The Fire In Your Eyes
by arthurs-redemption
Summary: Arthur Morgan is an outlaw, gunslinger in Dutch Van der Linde's gang, constantly running from the law. Along the way, he finds someone that not only becomes his friend, but an individual that he gets to know, understand, and trust, but most of all; she guides his mind and heart towards what he struggles with knowing the most; the man he's meant to be.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Supplies, Introductions, and Intentional Mischief**

With furrowed brows, Arthur drowned out every bit of sound that managed to rush to his ears as he trained his primary focus on the perfect visage of a medium-sized Green Heron. Slimly, it resided on a broken tree branch, lodged perfectly into the damp dirt below. Arthur smiled at the sight, picking up on the sudden opportunity of an eventual sketch of the lonesome creature. In a quick manner, he grasped onto his pencil and his worn, leather journal, peering up closely at the curious animal. Whilst mentally recording the significant detail of the bird's physicality, Arthur observed quietly as it craned its neck wildly, taking in its own surroundings. Its beady eyes, black as coal, landed on Arthur's tranquil expression as he started to sculpt the creatures narrow beak in a rapid movement, his own vision remaining idly glued on its exterior and structure, eventually feeling content with the way it had been slowly turning out.

Halfway done, Arthur spoke in a low murmur, "now, if you'll just stay still for a bit-" as if on cue, the sleek, wonderous bird took flight, soaring through the brisk air casually, fading farther and farther away the longer Arthur ogled at the animal in disbelief. He was almost sure the animal had done it on purpose, most likely cackling to itself once it had jetted off into the horizon. Huffing sharply in disappointment, Arthur mumbled the remainder of his sentence under his breath, "Longer."

Peering down at the journal that was shoved in between his hands, he grumbled random curses in frustration at the sight of his unfinished work. Without any apparent hesitation, he smacked the booklet shut and flung the pencil off to the side without a care as it bounced and rolled into knee-high greenery.

"You okay, Uncle Arthur?" the sight of little Jack emerged into his view as he scuttled over to where the pencil had been thrown, before gladly bending downwardly and grasping it in his possession.

"'Course, kid, I was just tryin' to draw a da-ang Heron; beautiful one, too," Arthur frowned, rapidly correcting himself before a curse word almost escaped within his speech carelessly, especially being in front of Jack and all; innocent and pure as he was. "But, uh, it flew away before I could finish."

"Let me see it!" Jack chirped with a huge smile, his short arms spread outwardly towards Arthur's journal. Jack was the type of kid that no one could ever say 'no' to; he was a kind boy with a heart of gold and a kindred spirit that was meant for cheering up, filling those with an abundance of positivity; Arthur knew that of him. No one has ever had a glimpse of his journal, not even a close friend like Hosea or Dutch. Or, even, an ex-lover such as the likes of Mary Linton. It was meant for his ideas and his thoughts only, after all, but in this case, he thought his half-drawn, good-for-nothing Heron wasn't a big deal for Jack to get ahold of.

"It's not finished, but sure," he flipped to the exact page and didn't hesitate to present it to Jack, placing the journal in his petite hands. He took it gleefully, and Arthur couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he witnessed the child closely inspect the failure of a drawing, in Arthur's opinion at least. In a number of ways and directions, Jack rotated the booklet, making sure to capture it in different perspectives.

"Hmm," Jack tapped his index finger repeatedly against his thin, upper lip thoughtfully, mulling over every detail the page withheld, before coming up with an evaluated, conclusive response in accordance to his well-thought out judgement that he came up with. "So far, I think it looks good, Uncle Arthur! Even if it is halfway done!"

"Why, thank you, Jack, I appreciate it."

"But, I think you should stop drawing birds, so they don't fly away and get you mad," Arthur gingerly laughed at the smiling boy, whom let out a giggle as well.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind, kid."

"You should draw a gator! Them things never move, Uncle Arth—"

"Jack, get over here and eat the rest of your stew!" Abigail Marston hollered from across the campgrounds, causing Jack himself to jump at the loud shrill of her stern tone.

Before the child ran off toward his mother, he returned the worn-out pencil back into Arthur's possession, a high-pitched, giddy farewell graciously came along as well, "See you later."

"Bye, Jack," he responded lowly, a small smile grazed the corners of his dry lips as he watched the boy scuttle back towards the center of camp to scarf down the remainder of his stew, so he didn't have to hear another peep out of his mother.

Eventually, Arthur did the same as well, only he lounged around a fiery campfire, having the pleasure of such company as Bill, Micah, and Javier. He let out a long, exhausting yawn as he rubbed at his tired eyes with his fingertips, surprised at his recent actions, especially it only being mid-day.

He was solemnly consumed at the sight before him, the blaze of the scorching amber intrigued him as he listened in on the silent crinkling, but the quiet environment didn't stay tranquil for long once Micah's raspy, yet somehow always seemingly sarcastic tone had cracked through the air, "Morgan, I would like to consult with you about a particular _plan_ that I've got in mind, if you'd have the least bit interest in hearing it."

"It's best if you don't think of any type of plan that involves a possible conflict with the law," Arthur bluntly side-eyed him, before setting his sights directly onto the crimson flames, once again.

"Are you really goin' to continue to hold that Blackwater mess against me?"

"Yes, I _am_ ," Arthur spat venomously. "For if it wasn't your idiocy and terrible execution, Jenny and Davey would've still been alive," he bitterly grumbled, his brows narrowing at Micah accusingly. Javier and Bill closely listened in on the usual bickering awkwardly, shooting each other similar looks of knowing and flashing their eyebrows in a synchronized fashion.

"Oh, come on, Morgan, you and I both know that what happened to them was out of our hands," Micah, though irritably, attempted to reason with Arthur, but it didn't necessarily seem to work very well.

Not bothering to give an immediate response, Arthur flicked his gaze upwardly, sending Micah a death glare that withheld every ounce of coldness in his heart towards him. "If there's any sense of intelligence in that piss-shit of a brain o' yours, I recommend you don't speak another damn word."

At once, not another peep was heard out of Micah's grimy mouth, only momentary curses and a fit of utter nonsense dragged out as unnoticed grumbles. Arthur was sure to ignore every bit of his current existence as Micah heaved himself off the wooden stool with a gruff, twisted harshly on his spurs, and stormed off angrily towards his radiant palomino.

Silence brewed hotly through the air as Arthur's attention stayed idly on the campfire once more; the sight of it brought him to a state of somewhat peacefulness and a place of calming. Though, the thoughts of Micah's constant yapping flashed through his mind in minor echoes, the countless amounts of blasphemies that'd eventually escape his revolting mouth would form in encasement of vexation in Arthur's heart and toxically consume his intellect, or more of, his whole-being in fact.

 _Feller only been caught up with us for six months and thinks he knows the ropes_ , Arthur thought to himself, eyebrows drawn. _Hell, all he's done is get us into unnecessary trouble and I'm not so sure if I trust him even the slightest damn bit_.

"Everyone makes mistakes, Arthur, maybe you should give him a chance," Javier reasoned warily.

"No thanks, partner, I'd rather muck some stables all day than be caught dead alongside that fool."

"Why the hell not, Morgan? Most of the folk in this camp think I'm just some dense outlaw with all the robberies I've ruined, so what makes Micah any different?" Bill stepped in, attempting to prove a point, but although it may be accurate to a certain extent, Arthur dismissively blew off his controverted remark.

"You been with all o' us longer than he has, Bill, we all are in the knowin' of your motives, whether your plans fail terribly or not," he and Javier let out a short, gruntled laugh, though Bill casually rolled his dark, brown eyes-so hard he possibly saw a glimpse of his half-brain. "Plus, that feller don't sit right with me, I ain't able to explain it."

"Try to like 'em, I guess is all that Dutch wants," Javier plainly half-shrugged, rubbing his hands firmly together before lifting them into the air. Parallel to one another, he directed them towards the controlled inferno of a campfire, absorbing the combustion of heat it naturally gave off.

"Where the hell is Dutch, anyway?" Arthur inquired, arching a brow instantaneously.

"He left with Hosea to scope out Valentine's internal environment, that poor excuse for a bank that's holed up there, and the town's outskirts earlier this morning. They should be arriving back soon," he summed up in simplicity. He peered to his right to find Bill with his eyes half shut, droopily slumped over. In an instant, he swatted at his broad shoulder, causing him to jump out of his skin. Hopefully, the drowsiness was driven off in the process as well. "Hey, Williamson, I wouldn't want to ruin your beauty sleep, but we got to go hunting before sundown."

Arthur scoffed humorously, "That beauty sleep must not be workin' too well."

"Shut the hell up, Morgan," Bill mumbled sourly under his breath. Slabbing on his signature bulldogger hat atop his balding head, he exhaustedly wiped a hand down his disgruntled face before regaining all momentum and rose back up on his feet successfully. Exhaling rather sharply, he held an unmotivated countenance.

Arthur's gaze didn't drift away from the two gunslingers as they strode away from his proximity and over towards their own tents, surely in search for further supplies needed, before they had to venture off into the vast landscape of New Hanover. Javier held a naturally jaunty swing in his step, though Bill trudged grudgingly, and Arthur found it rather amusing. Though, once they had eventually faded from view, he shut his eyes in search for a peace of mind that he once had felt, but he couldn't seem to find it, sadly enough. He could feel his head begin to pulsate with pains that'd grow intensely but would gradually settle down. He rubbed his temples frustratingly with his fingertips, thinking to himself, _Goddamn that annoying degenerate_ , in accordance to Micah Bell.

"Hey, Arthur," he twitched his neck upwardly, only a smidge, from his bowed posture, to find a tentative Lenny Summers through the brim of his hat. "You, uh, mind comin' with me to town to haul in that wagon over there for supplies?"

Arthur huffed tiredly _. Can I ever be left alone?_

"Sure," he replied in one breath, raspier than usual. In one swift movement, he placed both of his hands on his knees and bounced off the stool with a creak and a weary grunt. He followed in-step with Lenny, rounding over to the hitching posts that compiled with the gang's horses; all differentiating from one another, in breeds and in coat.

"I'm sorry to bother you with this, but it's just, as you know, Uncle don't ever wanna do nothin' with his lumbago and half the camp is off doin' other sorts of—" Arthur chortled humorously at Lenny's reasonings, more specifically the comment about Uncle's lumbago. Unbothered, he reassuringly wafted his hand at Lenny's rambles of nonsense.

"Ahh, it ain't no bother, Lenny, really."

"You sure?" He hesitantly asked once more, timidly glancing over his shoulder.

"'Course, Micah just gave me a headache, is all," Arthur grimly stated per usual whilst Lenny happily guided him passed the hitching posts, several angelic horses, ranging from various shapes and sizes, blew and stomped at the soiled ground as they did so. As the sights of the empty supply wagon closed in, they strode a little bit farther down the unofficial path, momentarily arriving at their awaited destination. Two steel-like, though, magnificent, midnight-black draft horses were stationed towards the front end, waiting patiently for their cue to embark.

"Don't he give us all a headache?" Lenny chuckled lightly to himself as they smoothly leaped onto the wheel of the wagon, utilizing it as a stepping-stool, and heaved themselves onto the seats in one slick, rapid movement. Lenny got ahold of the reins and directed the horses onto the clear path, flicking it with a light and subtle smack, urging the mares forward. "Ha!"

Arthur simply hummed, nodding approvingly at his reply. Simultaneously, he lifted his fingers to his lips and shortly whistled at a low octave. Majestically, the jet-black Thoroughbred reacted gingerly to the sound almost immediately, neighing and nickering softly as a sign of greeting toward her awaited rider. The beautiful sight of its long, dark mane bobbed about as it began to trot in a rhythmic beat, it's lengthy tail sloshing from side-to-side fluidly. As it continued to move along the soot trail, in-step with the slow-paced wagon, Arthur concluded, "after I help you pack those supplies in the wagon, I think I'm goin' to ride around for a bit to clear my head."

"Sure, Mr. Morgan, I appreciate the help, nonetheless."

The corner of Arthur's lips quirked at his kind response. With no doubt, anyone would agree that Lenny is a hard-working individual and is always prepared to take on whatever type of work the day withheld. No matter the mood, no matter the trials and tribulations, he kept his boots sunk into the campgrounds and didn't think of anyone lesser than the other. He equally thought of everyone as a part of his family, though, maybe excluding Micah at times as he isn't very likable to begin with. Arthur greatly relates to Lenny's quiet nature, but never fails to admire his level-headed attitude. _He's a good kid_ , he ruminated in truthfulness.

All that was clearly heard amongst the lone duo was the horse's hooves repetitively drum against the ground in a continuous, soothing thrum. Dust spewed into the humid air as the occasional, light gust of wind carried it across the path and into patches of greenery. Beams of bright light from the evening sun beat down on Arthur and Lenny brutally, its vengeful rays clasping steamily against their skins with discomfort, though, the sliver of a breeze that swiftly came and went was enough to be grateful for.

"How you feel 'bout the gang after that situation back at Blackwater?" Arthur questioned randomly. A bullet of sweat hung over the edge of his brow and cascaded freely down his temple before he casually wiped it away with the back of his hand. "I've been thinkin' about it a lot."

Lenny exhaled sorrowfully, his thoughts instantly crawled to the unfortunate events that had occurred that day, or more so, who he had lost that mattered to him the most. It left an immense hole in his chest that could never be filled, nor does he think that it could be. "Nothing's changed, Arthur, we do jobs that ain't for the good and not everything's goin' to be all roses in the end, you know that."

Arthur nodded gravely, comprehending his words. He swallowed thickly. "Yeah."

"But, no matter what, life goes on whether you choose to realize it or not," he relaxed against his seat and lifted his arms into the air, gesturing towards the wide landscape. "Look at the world around us, Arthur, it's vast and it holds beauty that we haven't seen yet. Tahiti sounds good, don't it?"

"Mm," he hummed dreamily at the thought, a small smile forming across his ruminated countenance. "Sure does."

 _Could it become a reality?_ Arthur contradicted to himself, peering across the extravagant view before him. Instantly, he was fully absorbed and compelled at the wonderous sight that he is currently voyaging through, fixed on Lenny's words entirely. His viridescent eyes flicked upwardly at the cerulean sky in fixation, blotches of grey clouds engulfed within it as countless flocks of birds soared and hovered above, in sync with one another. _Or, is it just a mere fantasy that Dutch holds on to?_

As Arthur delved and went astray in not only the world, but his racing thoughts, he blinked back into realization of his surroundings, the rustling town of Valentine closing in shortly. In time, the supply wagon rode over the railroad tracks and shook slightly as it did so. Plenty of ranch hands were visible near closed-in fences that possessed horses, cattle, sheep, or goats. The post-office and the train station were located towards the right-side, bustling with townsfolk that lounged on nearby benches; either chatting amongst themselves or receiving knowledgeable information from the daily newspaper. Riding further down the path, at a much easier pace than previous, careless occupants ambled in front of the wagon to travel across the way, seemingly praying to get ran over in the process, perhaps.

Only a couple of moments later, Lenny halted the horses in front of the general store. Briskly, Arthur jumped off the wagon and once he had landed, mud deliberately sprayed and splatted on and around his boots, instantly smearing and staining them. Huffing at the inevitable, unfortunate events, Lenny had mirrored his movement and immediately made his way into the store to fetch the supplies needed.

Calmly, Arthur leaned his weight against the edge of the wagon, waiting patiently for his friend's return. With a single swipe of his hand over his feature, feeling completely drained, he breathed out of his nose. _Wish I had slept better last night_ , he reflected.

Solely, mere minutes had passed, and eventually, out came a pair of sheer individuals that physically resembled the appearance of amateur ranch hands, scuttling from the general store hurriedly, carrying a large crate of canned-goods in their thin arms with a bit of a struggle. Arthur instantly climbed into the back of the wagon as one of the younger men gleefully handed him a crate to load in properly. This repeated action was executed with the next crate, and the next, and then, eventually, the last. It didn't take much more containers to completely fill the wagon, though, at least from the look of things, the camp wouldn't need to go supply running anytime soon.

Arthur plummeted back down to the mud-caked ground before he and Lenny took a couple of steps backwards for a complete view at their finished work. Closely surveying the now-filled wagon, they checked if it was well-enough to depart and made sure that everything was packed gracefully inside; all ordered and stacked correctly into place.

"Thank you," Lenny called after the least bit helpful ranch hands, waving his hand after them. He diverted his view towards Arthur and outstretched his opposite hand towards him, before appreciatively uttering, "and, thank you, Mr. Morgan."

"No worries," he grinned cheerfully and accepted his gesture of respect, shaking his hand in the process. "If anyone asks, tell 'em I went ridin', will 'ya?"

"Sure thing, partner," Lenny tilted his head downwardly in understanding before climbing onto the wagon once more, urging the horses to move down the path. Arthur's gaze lingered as he did so, making sure there were no loosened crates that had the tendency to fall over when they it begun to move.

Once the wagon had disappeared around a corner, withered away from his line of vision, Arthur spun around on his spurs to come face-to-face with a ravishing mare; his own, as a matter of fact, and a remarkable one, at that. Instantly, a wide, giddy grin appeared across his cheerful countenance, glad to find his trusty steed by his side, once again. In sweet greeting, he patted the angelic creature's furry neck softly. The darkly-coated horse happily nickered in response to his touch, along with the sight of her trusty companion.

"Hey, girl," he cooed lowly, smiling in adoration of the animal's significant arrival. At once, he grasped onto the reins and led his mount towards the hitching posts in front of the sheriff's office, before ogling into the Thoroughbred's dark, large eyes, patting its neck gently once more as a momentary farewell. "I'll be back, alright?"

Casually, he took a few steps forward, directly onto the woodened front of the office, checking off the mental note of inquiries that he had about the recent bounty poster that had been hung up a couple of days ago. Whilst shuffling through his satchel in search of the slip of paper, utterly focused and jumbled in his own mind, it didn't take a second longer for the office's front door to burst open and an amount of weight to ram into him at full force, causing him to lose a bit of his balance. Slightly dazed, an unfamiliar, slim, feminine figure burrowed harshly passed him as if she were in an extreme hurry, calling out in a thick, Southern drawl, "can y'all just leave me the hell alone, for once?"

A young, flimsy, and terrible excuse for a deputy charged out of the office as well, shouting after the unnamed woman in slight distress. "M-miss, we are tryin' to help you!"

"I didn't ask for no damn help," she growled furiously, "nor, did I want any!"

"What in the hell…" Arthur trailed lowly under his breath, taking his gaze off the situation unfolding before him, although, he did find it a bit humorous—the bogus scene resembled an infuriated lion on the verge of pouncing at a subdued squirrel.

Finally, Arthur dragged the poster out of his satchel in delight, unfolding and flattening its evident creases. Scrutinizing every bit of the page, along with the description, he began to waltz into the building in immediate search for the sheriff himself, though, a certain shout of a 'hyah!' and a whinny of a familiar mare cut himself short. He speedily turned his head to look over his wide shoulder, and almost instantaneously, Arthur's relaxed mode engaged into one of sheer panic. His light-green eyes practically bulged out of their sockets in shock as the furious, unkept individual had slickly mounted the back of his horse with ease. Not even providing him a sliver of time to react, she had jetted down the streets of Valentine in a blink of an eye. "Hey, that's my damn horse!"

Arthur sprinted out of the office and into the semi-crowded street as the anonymous rider veered and drifted around various amounts of folk that retreated harshly away. His jaw set in determination and his brows drew forward as he felt a surge of relentless frustration burrow through his bones. In expectation for anything to be done, he glanced over at the good-for-nothing lawman and quickly heaved himself atop of a Morgan that had been previously hitched beside his own. Invigorated, he exasperated loudly, "I got this, deputy, no need for any dramatics."

With that said, Arthur swallowed thickly, spurring the nag into a full gallop down the moistened, grungy road as every pedestrian remained along safe quarters. A sharp neigh and continuous exhausts was the only thing heard, specifically from the agitated Morgan he had taken on the unfortunate ride with, certainly not suited for high-speed chases. To Arthur's surprise, enough speed was gained to reach the slightest amount of distance, and surely, the unknown rider was in perfect view farther up the way, already having traveled out of the town's perimeter.

 _Bea's too fast for this horse_ , Arthur's thoughts grumbled. _Thing is, she won't go far with that random on her back._

"C'mon, boy, just a bit more," he uttered lowly in a rough growl, holding distinct infuriation and hopefulness that the jade wouldn't buck him off for over-working it.

The weary horse labored with difficulty, blowing much louder and more often than it had before. Arthur had begun sympathizing for it, but he had high hopes that the horse wouldn't let him down. He took immediate notice that he had grown a tad bit closer to the horse thief, and for that, he patted the Morgan reassuringly through its short, white mane.

"Stop the horse!" Arthur spat ferociously over the wide plains, unholstering his newly-owned volcanic pistol in one fell swoop. "Now!"

"And, if I don't?" The thief hollered over her shoulder, the raspy, southern drawl that she adopted was almost too difficult to forget. The sour response that it transpired only tensed Arthur's irritated nerves a bit further.

"I will goddamn shoot you, lady!" he shouted in intimidation, gritting his teeth subjectively as he eyed any sudden movements the woman decided to make. "Ma'am, I am going to warn you one last…"

Arthur was perplexed at the amount of ground that the Morgan had suddenly covered in such a small amount of time as he noticed his primary steed, Bea, had decreased in distance as well. The worn-out horse wasn't moving quickly, charging at only a slow gallop at this point. Realization hit Arthur at once, in knowing of the thief's speed that had recently decelerated greatly. _She really had stopped?_ It didn't take a minute or two later for Bea and the exhausted Morgan to come at a full and complete stop, the thief slumping off the back of the horse sluggishly.

Attentively, Arthur dismounted the Morgan rather slowly, narrowing his blue-green eyes at the unknown lady. He watched her gulp thickly, scrutinizing the view around her, not daring to steal a single glance towards Arthur's defensive posture, pistol remaining in hand. Once the Morgan caught its own breath, it trotted a few feet away as Bea joined alongside it, leaving the fuming pair standing idly in the smack middle of a wide-open pasture.

"Can I ask you what on earth you were thinking?" Arthur roared bluntly, the thief remaining completely silent-brows knitted, jaw clenching, clearly raging inside-and-out. "You're lucky I ain't the type to damn well shoot you as soon as you left on my horse."

Surely, that got her full attention, as her neck snapped powerfully towards him, the fire in her eyes inexplicable to convey. Folding her arms across her chest, she bluntly replied, "I wasn't going to steal your horse, _mister_ , I wanted to escape from that pit of hell that I've dealt with long enough."

Judgmentally, Arthur's head jerked forward as his eyes squinted even further in complete disbelief at the words that she finally managed to speak aloud. Attempting to comprehend such idiocy, he answered stiffly, "so, you're tellin' me that you had to steal my horse—" he jabbed his index finger in his chest in emphasis, "-to escape from that town?"

"They've kept me there for two whole days, questionin' and buggin', and I couldn't sleep without thinkin' I was just some damn prisoner," her stone-cold demeanor gradually diverted to one of complete and utter sorrow as she shook her head dismissively, swiping a trembling hand through her tousled, light-brown hair that some may consider to be a dirty-blonde, withholding streaks lighter than the others. Arthur took a mental note of the evidently darkened, heavy bags under her caramel-colored eyes, before thinking, _she hasn't slept, that's for sure_. His eyes trailed downwardly to take in her filthy attire; a women's union suit, specifically meant for sleeping, holding patches of smeared mud and grime in various areas. At this, his brows twitched forward in slight concern, _them lawmen didn't give her a change of clothes?_

"You are one stupid woman for stealin' a man's horse when you could've walked out and traveled on by your lonesome," Arthur replied with a bit of a subtle composure, his stern tone decreasing in volume dramatically. "You were askin' to get killed, you know."

"Yeah, well, maybe that's for the best," she grumbled under her breath, but it was loud enough for Arthur to overhear.

"What are you even blabberin' about?" he inquired curiously, and due to her lost, faraway expression that was glued idly onto the knee-high grass below, swaying softly with the light wind that blew, he leaned a bit forward to catch any change of countenance or, even, the slightest budge. When a response didn't follow, he asked, again, "Why were you in the sheriff's office for two days?"

"They…I…"

Arthur managed to stay silent, his attention laid still on the woman as she let out a shaky breath, biting down on her dry, chapped lips. _God, she looks like she hadn't eaten in a week_. "Miss?"

"T-them lawmen… they thought I killed him," she lifted her gaze to stare despairingly over the faraway plains, visible tears began to welt at the brim of her eyelids, but she blinked them away rapidly. She wrapped her thin arms around her body, tightening the self-embrace insecurely.

"Killed, who?"

Reverting her fatigued eyes to peer blankly into Arthur's, she responded brokenly, breathlessly, "those men killed my husband."

Dumbly, Arthur blinked, slightly bewildered, "the lawmen?"

"No, goddamnit," she seethed irritably, causing Arthur to flinch and her patience to run extremely low. Her raspy voice was fragmented, mere huffs leaving her lips to refrain herself from bursting out of character. "The… the O'Driscoll's."

A vengeful nerve was plucked in Arthur's soul, before a countenance, similarly related to being slapped across the face, painted itself upon his features. Slowly, he retreated a couple of steps backwards, a glimmer of an anonymous woman's story suddenly unfolded, though, bashed him like a cement-block. He gawked speechlessly at her side-profile, a surge of sympathy jolted through his icy veins.

In simplicity, The O'Driscoll's are an utterly distasteful enemy that Arthur has become very familiar with throughout the rough years he's been with Dutch and the others. Colm O'Driscoll, the leader of a petty group of heartless low lives, and Dutch, the leader of a more wholesome, integrated, and slightly humane group, has had a lengthy and hateful feud for a while now, ever since each of them killed one another's loved one.

Arthur's subconscious scoffed bitterly, _there's never going to be a medium to that constant revolving whirlwind of hatred_ _unless they kill one another, or someone gets hanged._ Arthur shivered slightly at the horrid thought of anything happening to Dutch.

"I…Uh…" Arthur was at a loss for words and all he could feel was encased rage that was always there. He swallowed roughly, croaking, "I know 'em."

Her slumped posture straightened a bit, her balled-fists acquiring a visibly pale color as she perked her head upwardly a bit to side-eye him, warily, she rumbled, "how?"

Arthur's mouth gaped at the slightest, hesitation filling his senses as he found a collection of cautious words to say, noting that he didn't necessarily know her intentions, or more so, her in general. "Colm, the leader, he's a terrible man, as you know-" he gestured towards her, pausing for a moment as she stared bitterly in return, harked in on every syllable, "-and well, my people have a notorious record for dislikin' 'em; they have been hurt by those men, too."

The seemingly monotonous woman averted her train of vision to peer to her right-side, the Morgan and Bea grazing upon the narrow pasture of land solemnly.

"I apologize for takin' your horse," she mumbled in an emotionless, subtle whisper, and for some reason, Arthur grew concerned for her, noticing the lack of gleam of any emotion in her eyes. "Now, leave me be."

He rubbed at the back of his neck as he tilted his head downwardly to signify an occasional nod. Merely ambling over to Bea, he stole a few quick glances at the woman who didn't budge from her position.

Arthur fixed his full attention on the glimmering mare, surveying that the saddle was properly on and ready for the rest of the ride back to camp-flat and settled, not too loose or not too tight. Reassured that all compartments were kept in-check, he swung his weight upwardly and over Bea's back, grasping onto the withered reins securely, though, he didn't let himself urge her forward as he took in his surroundings; nothing but a field of grass with Valentine located further back. Above, the setting sun had lit the area, but he knew it wasn't long until it would get dark out. His eyes trailed from the sky to look downwardly at the woman, who hadn't budged or turned to see if he was still there.

Resting his arms on the saddle, he sighed brutally through his nostrils, before uttering gravely, "where's your family, miss?"

"Jake was my family," she murmured stiffly in return.

Arthur straightened up, scrunched up the right side of his face thoughtfully, and tapped the side of his thumb against his leg thoughtfully. _Screw it._ "Listen, lady, back at the camp that I live at, you know with all the folks that I mentioned earlier… my family, more so…" he cleared his throat, before continuing, "…the lovely women there can welcome you with a change of clothing or a bath if you'd like. You can sleep for the night as well, and decide where you want to go from there, whatever it may be. Now, I'll have you know that we ain't too good of people, but we sure as shit ain't the O'Driscolls. Besides, the sheriff's office doesn't seem to be treatin' you too well, ma'am, and I see they've been remindin' you of things that you don't want to be reminded of."

For a moment, her lost gaze flicked upwardly to meet his, and he could vaguely see the sadness, the heartbreak, and the tragedy hidden deeply within them.

"I don't know you, mister," she muttered calmly, her strong-willed demeanor radiating vibrantly.

"Nor, do I know you, miss, all I know is that you steal horses," he witnessed her plump lips quirk at his response, glad she had a sense of some type of emotion at this point. At a reasonable distance, he positioned his mount before the woman whose name he has yet had the knowledge of. He leant out a welcoming hand in front of her, before eventually finalizing his introduction, "my name is Arthur, Arthur Morgan"

To Arthur's surprise, she lifted her own and shook it, an emotionless, plain expression became plastered across her features. Lazily, he flicked his vision over to the lonesome Morgan remaining transfixed upon the pasture, before jabbing his thumb towards it, "No one's come after me for that Morgan, you should keep it."

She chewed at her lower lip, ambling over to the still creature in no time. She gently patted its neck as a simple greeting and solemn introduction. Arthur watched as the lady presented her hand towards the nag to take in her scent and become familiar with it.

"If you don't mind me askin'," Arthur projected, noticing the start of a bond between horse and rider unfold before him. She didn't flinch to look back at him. "Well, what's your name, lady?"

The woman petted the horse's muzzle softly, sharing a slight, ginger grin with the jade as it blew out of its nostrils loudly, a shake of its head and a soft neigh surfaced through the air. After a couple of minutes or so, she plugged her right foot into one stirrup and heaved herself on top of the horse's back swiftly, repositioning herself to sit more comfortably in the saddle.

With a huff of a breath leaving her lips, she jerked her head upwardly to meet Arthur's idle gaze, worn reins in her grasp, before stating, "Sadie… Sadie Adler, but that's Mrs. Adler to you, _Mr. Morgan_."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Responsibilities, Hostility, And A Tip From A Slob**

As the pair of recently-introduced acquaintances rode their steeds down the outskirts of Valentine, Sadie trailing closely behind Arthur in a steady trot, there wasn't much said, or to be said. The consistent thumping of hooves against the moistened soot, low and occasional hoots radiating from nearby tall trees, and the repetitive chirps of irritable crickets substituted for the lack of conversation and evident silence between the lone riders. Though, it wasn't necessarily a huge deal; it was a tiresome day and vocalizing about subjects was not what they itched to do. For Arthur, especially, it was rather calming to have a quiet, stress-free environment after a long and eventful, huff-of-a-day. A subtle, unbothered ride, soaked into the wonderment of the ecosystem, the vegetation, and the creatures of the night was all that he mainly needed, along with sleep, of course.

With the sliver of daylight gone, nightfall had swept the horizon entirely, the moonlight beaming majestically over landscapes and shone through the largest of trees. Arthur and Sadie had reached the unofficial path that led into Horseshoe Overlook; the solemn and extravagant location of the camp that felt utterly welcoming whenever Arthur had stepped within the premise.

Due to extreme lack of sunlight and the path being slightly unclear, Arthur's vision was somewhat hindered, but not to an impossible degree. To make things simpler, he leant over the side of his horse and unhinged a kerosene lantern that Charles had gifted him. Swiftly, he lit a match and kickstarted the sudden burst of vibrant illumination that it combusted, immediately presenting it outwardly to view the environment and the path that became easier to perceive with a single glimmer of light. He paid very close attention to the trail's obvious indentations and the sights of other deepened hoof tracks that led straight toward his home. In a smooth canter, the overflowing amount of foliage that embraced Sadie and Arthur warmly began to gradually disperse into an open, occupied clearing. Arthur overheard muffled chatter amongst the folks lounging around the camp, along with the sights of a wholesome campfire that acted as the main beacon of luminosity on most nights.

Arthur was grateful to finally be in the presence of his home, and closer to the conclusive moment when he'd enwrap himself in his wool blanket, drifting off into a deep, peaceful slumber. Though, before he can have a glimpse of sheer relaxation, he first had to give the camp an explanation as to why he had brought a random woman in the midst of the night, which frankly, he wasn't necessarily exhilarated to do. He laid his sights on the folks' togetherness that emitted from the campgrounds, feeling a surge of happiness course through his body that clearly had a depletion of energy, but, nonetheless, he still had a sense of slight feeling. To his dismay, the short-termed sensation of exuberance only lasted for so long, once his stomach dropped uncomfortably at a singular thought, grazing against the edges of his mind.

 _Wonder what Dutch and the others are going to think of Mrs. Adler_ , he pondered to himself. _Hauling a random off the road and into camp is not what we do, especially with the growing price on our head_.

Disregarding the negativity that his subconscious radiated, Arthur led Sadie to the overcrowded hitching posts. The previously hitched horses gave a slight strut to the side and gladly maneuvered out of the way of the newcomer, in accordance to either Sadie, or, possibly, the nag that she had recently acquired; it wasn't necessarily known.

In no time, they had stationed their steeds and dismounted stiffly, especially in Arthur's case. He gripped at the lantern that remained extremely lit and turned his attention towards the tiny knob that controlled its strength of vibrancy. He gently twisted it to the lowest setting with his fingertips as the large flame gradually decreased in size. To shut it off, he cupped the palm of his hand at the opposite end, before softly blowing out what was left of the bit of light. He returned the lantern back on his horse, clipping it beside his saddlebag.

Arthur sighed deeply, blinking away the sense of sleepiness that swept over him for a mere second. Sadie joined at his side timidly whilst those at camp have yet taken notice of their discrete arrival. Roughly, Arthur swallowed, and rubbed at the back of his neck in discomfort as he eyed the heart of home. More so, the primary spot where most of the gang had gathered altogether as a coherent unit, creating casual conversation and cackling at one another in a wholesome manner that he didn't want to ruin.

Twitching her brows in a tight scrunch, Sadie took notice of Arthur's sudden hesitation as she ogled at his scruffy, side-profile. Her curious eyes tugged from his immobilized posture, to the talkative socials that were seemingly overly joyful this late-evening, before retreating back to her male acquaintance, arching a brow, she murmured, "are you doin' alright, Mr. Morgan?"

"Hm?" Arthur hummed cluelessly, awakened from his corrupt state of mind, before turning his head to look over at the perplexed countenance that she held. "What?"

"We've been standin' here for a while now, and you're lookin' like you've seen a damn ghost," she informed lowly.

In preparation for any uproar from one of the problematic members, he withdrew his notorious gambler's hat from his head, swiped a worrisome hand through his right-parted locks, before slabbing it back on. Exhaling sharply, he lifted his opposite hand up to his thin lips, morphed into a balled-up fist, and cleared his throat justly, before speaking resolutely, "It ain't nothin', come on."

Without another word, Arthur and Sadie begun to trek towards the rowdy and cheerful bunch. On the way, he pondered about the proper words to say and how to explain it to Dutch in a way that he would certainly understand, but, he remained to have positive thoughts, as he was sure that his considerate leader wouldn't have a problem with the situation. At least, he hoped so, immensely, as a knowing saying echoed in his head, reminding him that it should be alright, _we shoot fellers as need shooting, save fellers as need saving, and feed 'em as need feeding._

Lost in the most vacant of thoughts, he and Mrs. Adlerdrew near a bit quicker than he had anticipated, the current, randomized discussions coming to an abrupt halt. The immediate attention of Susan, Mary-Beth, and Tilly created a substantial domino-effect, to Arthur's dismay. Countless gazes landed on him, firstly, for a simple greeting, but averted their focus towards a silent, emotionless Sadie. Several peculiar looks and risen eyebrows followed afterwards as she resided a few feet from view, and due to Arthur's large frame, she was slightly hidden away.

"Miss. Grimshaw, Mary-Beth, Tilly, would you provide this woman, Mrs. Adler, with a new set of clothing and organize a bath for her?" Arthur strongly requested. Tilly, Mary-Beth, and Susan reacted immediately to the foul sight that Sadie presented of herself and had equally grown increasingly worrisome for her state. As Tilly and Mary-Beth joined her side to fulfill Arthur's plea, he murmured to Mrs. Adler, "don't you worry about nothin', miss, these are kind women. You'll be fine in their hands."

Sadie nodded grimly, and Arthur noted that she was still upset, gravely, as a matter of fact, but he knew, deep down, that she was thankful. He only knew of some things she's gone through, from what she's told him earlier, but it didn't fail to get to him. Arthur's been through many things; through death and loss, even of loved-ones, but thinking of someone that he loves dearly, desiring to spend the rest of his life with, through gruesome days and the best, simply gone, forever, is something that is entirely different. To understand even a glimpse of Sadie's pain, all he could do was wonder how she must be feeling inside, deteriorating, most likely, as it seemed by her exterior and physical appearance.

 _This woman is broken, emotionally and mentally, the least I could've done was help her,_ his subconscious reminded.

Shifting his gaze away from Mrs. Adler, whose gaze was stuck at her unclean slippers, he peered upwardly to look directly at Tilly and Mary-Beth, shooting them an appreciative nod. At that, both woman looked at Sadie with concerned eyes, before gladly leading her to their structure that was only a bit farther down the campgrounds. Arthur witnessed Mary-Beth lay a reassuring hand on Mrs. Adler's shoulder as he vaguely overheard the two bombarding the poor, sleep-deprived woman with an array of questions that consisted of whether she was famished, parched, or simply needed rest.

"Mr. Morgan, who in the hell is that woman and where did she crawl from?" Miss. Grimshaw sharply inquired in evident curiosity, leaning a bit closer to Arthur as if she's going to spill a sly secret, before murmuring lowly, "she looks like she's been livin' in a cave for the past two weeks."

"Oh, it ain't like that, Miss. Grimshaw, she's…" he paused shortly, motioning towards the direction Sadie had gone with Tilly and Mary-Beth. "Just make sure she gets tidied up and—" before he could speak a word in continuation, an expected call of his name from a certain individual awoken his senses and cut him short.

"Arthur, get over here," Dutch shouted sternly and directly from his medium-sized tent, but it didn't sound as angry as he anticipated. Arthur begrudgingly groaned over the crackling campfire, its brightened, fiery blaze uniquely symbolizing the internal inferno that was about to erupt inwardly if anyone else, besides Dutch, had the audacity to confront him with anymore bothersome questions.

 _Goddamn my natural will to sympathize for others so easily_ , he mused irritably.

"Looks like you're in trouble, cowpoke," Micah dryly chuckled in a sardonic tone as Arthur rapidly passed by his disorderly setup, his remark pricking directly at one of his antagonized nerves, but he held back the urge to reply.

Arriving at Dutch's tent, a chapter-book shoved in his left hand and a countenance that screamed a tone of utter severity, the sights of Hosea entered Arthur's view whom was casually seated on a wooden chair, arms folded over his chest.

"Why did I just witness Miss Tilly and Mary-Beth guide a random, mountain woman that I don't seem to recognize, towards their tent?" Dutch asked in all seriousness, his brows twitching forward questioningly as Hosea idly sat behind him, listening into the conversation.

"She ain't no mountain woman, Dutch," Arthur corrected as he spotted Micah's displeasing figure in his peripheral, evidently prying. "I—Well, it all started when she stole my horse, and I chased her down—"

"She stole your horse? From a sour-faced man such as yourself?" Hosea enthusiastically pondered aloud, a humorous tone grazing at the ends of his speech. "From the looks of it, she's surely a tough one, Dutch."

Arthur smiled at Hosea's positivity, realizing this might as well go smoothly. Though, that was what Hosea usually did; he processed things clearly and quickly. He acted as a medium, or in other words, as a balance for Dutch's jumbled mind, usually making sure that everything was in-check, along with Miss Grimshaw. Although, she mainly focused on the gang's work status and that they were doing their part. Hosea, on the other hand, was Dutch's right-hand man, thoroughly processing ideal situations, or more specifically, arrays of robberies and searching for new settlements.

A wheeze of a laugh left Arthur's lips as Dutch tilted his head to the side in a thoughtful manner, considering Hosea's words, "pretty impressive, yes—" he took a quick glance towards Hosea, an amusing smile tugged at his features, before diverting his attention back to Arthur, jerking his chin forwardly, directly towards him, "-but, you said you chased her down, then, what?"

"Well, it turned out that she's been stayin' at Valentine's jailhouse for a couple of days, said her husband got killed by some petty O'Driscoll's, and uh, accordin' to her, she just needed to escape, I guess, from the lawmen, I mean," Arthur explained thoroughly, scratching at his short, scruffy beard with a slight half-shrug, "I know it seems crazy, Dutch, but I thought I could help her out, I mean, she's in a godawful state as you can see, and I just felt the need to do somethin', you know?"

"Guess Morgan's got some type of a heart in that bitter exterior of his, after all," Micah chortled mockingly off to the side, his arms crossed judgingly over his chest as he leaned against a thin, wooden post. "Then again, he's _always_ had a soft spot for the women."

"Mr. Bell, shut your mouth," Hosea cursed considerably. Now back up on his feet, he stretched out his muscles and paused to stand idly alongside Dutch at the end of the tent. "I'd say that was a kind deed, Arthur, but you know that this is our home, and we are criminals, one way or another, so if she's one to spread word—"

"She knows we're bad people, but we ain't ruthless. Hell, she stole my damn horse, I'd say she's a thief already and I don't think she minds the title," Arthur replied hysterically, Hosea and Dutch chortling lowly as well.

"All's understood, Arthur," Dutch nodded approvingly, a wave of gentle consideration washing over his calm features, along with wholesome commiseration towards Mrs. Adler's case. It was a frequent look that Arthur knew well, especially from all the years he's befriended Dutch. He greatly admired the constant dedication of caring for those in need, had mattered to Dutch and Hosea; being his leader's, best friends, and father-figures, and all. It showed that they were not only a lighthearted family, internally, but they continue to stay true to themselves, and to each other. "After all, we do have a saying; we shoot fellers as need shooting—"

"Save fellers as need saving, and feed 'em as need feeding," Arthur and Hosea chorused, cheerfulness entangled in their tone.

"That's right," Dutch nodded. "But, if she begins to act up, if you get what I'm implying, she's _your_ responsibility, Arthur."

"'Course, Dutch," Arthur replied appreciatively, slowly diverting his direction towards his personal arrangement that resided beside Dutch's, a short amount of distance apart. With a single gesture of a wave, he began to depart, giving his father-figures a farewell, "Have a good night, the both of 'ya."

For a bit, Arthur contemplated on whether to check up on Mrs. Adler or not, but after a constant warfare of thoughts battled continuously in his mind, he decided not to, considering that he was about to pass out at any given moment due to his extreme sense of tiredness that came over him like a tsunami. _I'll check up on her in the mornin'_ , he assessed _, she ain't the talkin' type, and she won't be for a while now_.

At the edge of his bed, to call it a day, he grasped onto his hat and swiftly set it on his bedside table. Gently, he plopped on the bit of cushion that his bed possessed, ultimately resembling the feeling of a cement-block, nonetheless, he was glad that it wasn't the ground. Shrugging off his beige coat, he kicked off his boots, flinging them over to the side, before laying on his sore back, setting his head on a pillow of fluff, relaxingly.

Like most nights, Arthur assumed his mind would consume him entirely, either it having to do with Mary, the Pinkertons, the gang's progression, or anything else that slithered at the edge of his subconscious, managing to interrupt his ability to sleep peacefully, but, this time, it wasn't the case. In simplicity, Arthur shut his eyes, fading into a pit of darkness that surely overtook him, subduing his mind, senses, and any incoming thoughts that attempted to keep him busy.

* * *

Arthur's eyelids fluttered open as he twisted and turned, his eyes dragging themselves to peer upwardly at the streaks of sunlight that struck through the tall greenery hanging closely above the camp, the area violently illuminated. He lifted his rough hands up to his exhausted face, before attempting to wipe the remaining drowsiness away. To survey his surroundings, he lifted his head a tad as his light green eyes scanned the area, noticing mostly of the camp had awoken and went ahead with their schedule of endless chores. A long, stifled yawn left his lips, before he cleared his dry throat. Slowly, but surely, he budged his wool blanket off his shoulders and sat upwardly, smacking his signature hat on his head and his boots back on his feet.

Before he decided to stand up and start the day off, his attention instantly caught onto his leather journal that was neatly placed on the end table beside him. Thoughtfully, his lips quirked back-and-forth, before taking it in his grasp and tugging the pencil out from one of the pages, due to its substitution as a bookmark. For no apparent reasoning, he twitched to look up from the opened journal and found the saddened woman he had saved the night prior. Forlornly, she was seated on a small boulder, one leg over the other femininely with a battered tin-can in her left hand, most likely filled with freshly-brewed coffee, and, lastly, an open book sprawled across her lap. Arthur noted that she had discarded the dirty union-suit she wore previously and had sported a chalky-white buttoned-up shirt, along with a pair of dark black pants that draped over her newly-owned boots.

Ahold of his pencil, beginning on the left page, as he always did, he flicked his gaze from her figure and back onto the no-longer-untouched page, his artistic ability becoming evident as his hand moved speedily. Desiring to instill slight, subtle effort, he paused shortly, jerking his head backwards to fully look at the page, tilting his head to the side, absorbing the minor detailing. Satisfied, her facial structure well-enough formed to continue, he began to divert his attention towards the elements of her brushed-down hair, squinting slightly at the woman whom was invested in the book before her. As she did so, Arthur took notice of the fact that half of her hair was neatly tied up, whilst the other half was cascading down her back, though, loose strands managed to obscure a bit of her features. With pursed his lips, he finalized the rest of his sketch with the collar of her shirt that was bent into a fold. To conclude his daily recording, he lifted his writing hand over to the opposite page to write a brief description of the previous day.

 _Mrs. Sadie Adler, or should I say, Mrs. Adler, as she'd rather be addressed by, at least. She's one crazy, idiotic woman for doing an act of thieving towards a man twice the size of her, not mentioning the wuss of a deputy she had done it in front of, but I don't think she cared much. I wouldn't have either. She's going through something that not anyone could easily understand, but, if I'm being honest, she's handling it better than most. I'm impressed with the way she carries out her emotions, though silently, but she manages to show off a snarl of an expression, that's for sure. This woman, she's got a fire in her, surely strong-willed, I can tell by the way she speaks to others, including me, and I think her heart being broken and all is holding her back from being, well, her._

 _Wonder how she's going to cope with her loss and crawl out of that state of depression that she's stuck in. Surely hope I don't find her hanging somewhere._

Arthur plugged the pencil against the bridge between the pages and shut the booklet of his personal recordings, before shoving it directly into his to his feet, he made his way toward the unprepared stew pot, though, placed to the side, he was thankful to find recently made coffee in the percolator. Grasping onto a spare tin cup that was stacked onto others on the ground, he poured the blackened beverage in one swift movement, the sweet aroma taking over his senses. He tilted his head back slightly, brought the tip of the cup up to his dry lips, and let the bitterness instantly waken his drowsy state of mind, before immediately taking a huge, satisfied gulp.

He was more than thankful to find the substance, still, at a heated temperature as he stationed the cup stiffly, the rim plastered to his lips, whilst the light steam hovered carelessly around his relaxed features. Without moving a muscle, he shifted his eyes to land on Mrs. Adler, whom was idly by her lonesome, and in the same position that he saw her a couple of minutes ago. Tilting the cup towards his mouth a smidge, he took another sip of the drink, mulling over whether he should check up on her or not, but while he was doing so, his legs decided to continue onward, anyways, subconsciously not in control.

Currently hovering over her seated posture, creating a shadowed-figure to loom over her, his jaw quirked into a clench, but released as he cleared his throat, attempting to gather the correct, welcoming words to say, but all that came to his mind was, "Mornin', Mrs. Adler."

Intently rooted onto the page of literature before her, she finally, though lazily retracted her view to peer upwardly at Arthur smiling flatly, as she held a countenance that portrayed sheer bleakness. "Mornin'."

At her timid and blunt response, a shift in expression from neutral to anything else, which he had internally hoped for, was not presented to him. He breathed inwardly through his nose, shifting his weight off one foot, and onto the other, his train of vision glued tightly onto the reading material she had a firm grip on. "How's everything? Are you doin' alright?"

"Look, I really don't mean to sound disrespectful, Mr. Morgan, but I'd like to be left alone, for a while," she remarked in the gentlest tone that she could muster, slipping much emphasis at the end of her speech, before dragging her droopy eyes back onto the chapter book she had been currently enjoying rather fondly. "I'll be fine."

His brows twitched forward, feeling a bit thrown off at how quickly she had halted the conversation that barely had the chance to begin, but Arthur, somehow, understood. Slightly, his mouth hung open in hesitation as his tousled mind deciphered whether to persist on asking about her mental status. Disregarding it, he tucked his chin into the crook of his neck, closely resembling a gradual, curt nod whilst his soft eyes darted carelessly across the topsoil below. Embarrassed at the way she had dismissed him, he stated casually with the subtle waft of his hand, "oh, that's not a problem…Sorry for interruptin' your readin', and um… Have a good day, now."

 _Loss can really do somethin' to you. It can really distance you from the world and can refrain yourself from conversating to those that could possibly help your current state,_ Arthur ruminated, a stony-faced countenance washing over his features.

Shaking his head abruptly, due to the consistent pattern of being astray in his own self, Sadie dove back into her reading closely, automatically thrown into a world of her own. Arthur's slight gaze lingered upon her figure for a short moment, before he managed to spin on his heel and retreat awkwardly towards the large stew pot, once more. Mindlessly, he flashed his eyebrows at how much of an immense failure that conversation had ended up being. He took a long sip of his beverage, swallowed roughly, and aggressively flung the rest of the caffeinated liquid onto the dirt-ground. He neatly stacked his used cup on the right-side of the stew pot where the others had resided as well.

Immediately, due to audible shuffling nearby, and the sight of a couple of pebbles tumbling near his boots, Arthur sensed a figure closely behind. Once he had stiffly turned his head to look over his wide shoulder, he found Tilly Jackson, a reassuring, half smile across her young features. "I don't think you should take it personal, Arthur, she'll be like that for a while."

"It ain't that I'm takin' it personal, I just, for some reason, want to know what she's thinkin'," he replied meekly, rubbing awkwardly at his growing facial hair, scrunching up one side of his face in a type of cringy manner. "Has she spoken to you at all?"

"A little bit, yes, but not much. With the things she's going through, you got to give her time, is all," she hummed positively, a coherent nod following her remark, which, he was extremely relieved to hear

 _At least she's talking to somebody,_ he thought to himself.

After a few mere moments, Tilly reached up to grab Arthur's bicep, giving it a kind squeeze in positive assurance. "Don't worry, Abigail and Karen have been attempting to speak to her as well, and Mary-Beth has been consoling her."

Arthur smiled lightly, nodding resolutely. Tilly informing him that the many women in camp have stepped forward and are glad to help Mrs. Adler, as much as she's struggling with coping throughout the day, not only made him feel appreciative of how helpful they were, but he ultimately felt like he had done something right, for once. When someone that continues to do bad in the world, though, does something new for a change, it instills a new feeling that can't easily be interpreted within themselves, but it manages to feel different than any other.

"I appreciate it, Tilly, continue to keep an eye on her, please," he concluded as a simple request that he knew, without a doubt, would be carried out as expected. Tilly called out a cheerful farewell after Arthur as he began to inch towards the rectangular table towards the center of campgrounds that was usually meant for simple chatter, or more so, important conversations and conferences in accordance to specific jobs. He spotted Dutch, Hosea, Charles, Javier and Uncle standing and sitting alongside one another in a wholesome fashion, seemingly conversing about a topic that Arthur was surely interested in.

"Arthur," Dutch greeted fondly, motioning towards him with the lit cigar that was tightly budged in between his fingertips. As Arthur nodded curtly, he crossed his arms over his chest, and stood idly by Charles, listening into the situation at hand. "Uncle had recently presented us with a possible job that is just waiting for us to get done."

"Yeah? This unmotivated slob? And, what could that be?" Arthur's attention averted towards Uncle's unprofessional, though kingly posture, his stubby legs propped onto the table relaxingly, one crossed over the other.

"Payroll," Uncle mischievously remarked, to the point of salivation at the wonderous thought. "Well, as you know, it is a livestock town. A stage-coach is coming through the main trail to the right of Citadel Rock, and straight into Valentine to drop off a tremendous amount of bills in a couple of days."

"Do you have an idea as to how many guards?" Hosea stepped in, withholding obvious curiosity.

"Well, according to what I found out, there will be about six gunmen on horseback escorting the load, along with two seated in the actual coach," the whole table had scoffed and cackled hysterically at the knowledge, implying that the eventual robbery might have just been more simplistic than they had previously anticipated.

"I don't understand these towns escorting payroll through some stage coach," Javier commented laughably, a vibration of excitement settled in his expression and tone of voice, "It's like they're asking to get shot and robbed."

"We live in a land of common idiots, Mr. Escuella," Dutch chimed in enthusiastically, shifting his eyes towards Arthur's tranquil state and lastly, to Hosea's perplexed countenance, whom was most likely delving into a possible, organized plan accordingly in his mind. "Hosea, what do you think?"

"Well, for now, in time for the next couple of days, I'll be sure to devise a structured time and location to gather as the stage coach rides along the trail, but as you all know, we've done this before, and it won't be much different than any other time," Hosea insisted, holding a sharp, thoughtful gaze that was glued at the center of the table, the tip of his middle finger tapped consecutively against the cracked wood. "As usual, Arthur, Charles, Javier, and, possibly, Bill will move forward with the robbery, picking off the men one-by-one. Obviously, once the money is retrieved, you ride out of there in an instant, do not hang around and loot, as the gunfire will grab immediate attention by passerby's, so on and so forth. Though, like I said before, it's not a job that's any different than what we've done before, so don't be discouraged."

As the five gang members nodded simultaneously, understanding the circumstances and the setting of the situation, surely hearing the same arrangement many times prior, Charles spoke questioningly. "Hosea, would you like me to scope out the road and decide on a location where we will sit and wait for the coach to arrive?"

Hosea hummed positively. "Yes, that will be necessary."

"Thank you, Mr. Smith," Dutch smiled, setting himself up for a gradual departure as a certain woman with a lilt manner of speech, preferably of Irish descent had been calling for him by his tent. "One minute, Miss. O'Shea—" he paused shortly, turning to Uncle graciously, "-And, well done, Uncle, for you may have some basis in this gang, after all!"

Coherent laughs of pure amusement were all that was heard as Dutch departed from the premise to answer Molly's consistent call's, as it created an immediate domino-effect. Javier walked over to Bill to inform him of the plans in accordance to the robbery. Charles made his way over to Taima with a task to complete, before calling out to Arthur questioningly, "you want to come along to survey the area? Maybe, go hunting while we're out?"

"Sure," Arthur didn't hesitate to reply as a corner of his lips quirked upwardly, the idea of lounging around at camp didn't sit well with him, knowing that things were getting done and he didn't partake in it. Before Arthur fled, he turned to Uncle and inputted sarcastically, "well done, old man, you finally did somethin'—" he plopped a proud hand against Uncle's shoulder, whom let out a stifled yawn. "-Or, well, you didn't do anythin', you just found out some helpful information."

"Well, it don't feel right, doin' absolutely nothin' and all, especially with my lumbago that frequently refrains me from sleepin' most nights," Uncle responded earnestly, though Arthur chuckled disbelievingly as the old coot had the audacity to scrunch up his features in apparent agony whilst setting a massaging hand on his shoulder, maneuvering his joint in a circular rotation.

"You tellin' me you ain't going to ride along with the rest of us to add some assistance in robbin' the coach?" Arthur asked, as if he didn't know the answer.

"Oh, I'm sure all 'o 'ya got this one in the bag, no sweat, you don't need someone like me slowing you all down," as expected, Arthur guffawed dryly in disbelief.

"One of these days," Arthur warned thoroughly, beginning to step in reverse, specifically in the direction of his hitched steed. Uncle's fearful gaze followed as he did so. "You're goin' to have to do somethin' that consists of manual labor, Uncle."

 _Lumbago_ , Arthur pondered to himself as he unhitched his majestic mare, mounted in one slick movement, and gathered the thin reins in his hands, continuing his wonderment in mere disbelief. Bea trailed closely behind Taima as his subconscious scoffed, _wonder who gave him that stupid idea._

* * *

 _I hope you all enjoyed the second chapter! It was more of a filler, but the robbery is going to create a couple of situations amongst other things, also introductions._

 _Nonetheless, in accordance to my updating schedule, I should be able to update weekly, due to it being my first year in college and all. And, I also had just finished lingering Final Exam's, so don't expect frequent updates in general :( Let alone that all my chapters are going to have 5,000+ words each, which is ultimately a great thing after a long wait!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Progress, Robberies, and An O'Driscoll**

To Arthur's dismay, the past few days have grown increasingly slow and excruciatingly lengthy no matter what he seemed to distract himself with. Though, the only thing that he was sure of, was that things were getting done as time had swept by. After surveying the area near Citadel rock, Charles and Arthur found a designated location that allowed them to hide out and wait, in preparation for the upcoming stage-coach that they'd eventually rob. Afterwards, simply, and resourcefully, they had hunted a massive Bison, whom resided with a pack of the rest of its enormous species, located only west of Citadel.

The next day, though, displeasingly, Arthur forced himself to go rob a homestead with Micah that he surely did not look forward to. Reassuringly, they had gathered a couple of silver and platinum pocket watches that sold for about five to ten dollars each, along with clips of bills that were hidden away in drawers, summing up a total of almost a hundred wads of cash that Arthur had to grudgingly split with his pesky partner. Micah wasn't the best companion to have along for the job, due to his consistent yapping, sly comments, and unrelenting attempts at being the one in authority, but it thankfully went smoothly, due to the grateful absence of the homeowners.

Lastly, Arthur, willingly, went fishing with Javier north of Flat Iron Lake which wasn't much of a ride from Horseshoe Overlook to begin with. He didn't catch as many as Javier did, but he did catch a Lake Sturgeon, weighing at nearly fourteen pounds, but he didn't hesitate to throw it back. In comparison to Arthur's performance, Javier caught twice as many; quickly, too, and it seemed as if the second he casted his rod, a fish would nibble, and he'd be reeling an even larger one than before, causing Arthur's level of frustration to heighten a smidge. Then, again, Arthur never really thought of himself as a superb fisherman.

Nonetheless, during the period in which Arthur was holed up at camp, he shot momentary glances towards Mrs. Adler's direction, mainly due to his curiosity of her current state, yet at a distance. Surprisingly enough, he found either Abigail or Mary-Beth socializing with her, along with Tilly at times, which he expected. From Arthur's perspective, Mrs. Adler seemed as if she had been overcoming her grief at a reasonable pace, noticing that her sobbing fits had decreased immensely. She had been responding normally, or more so, neutrally, when spoken to by the women of the camp, not even a sulk in between her words. Arthur hadn't attempted to talk to the mourning woman since their first tremendously awkward conversation, but he made sure to catch her gaze and give her a simple nod or wave of the hand as an acknowledgement. To Arthur's astonishment, she would return the gesture; kindlier and with more meaning as time passed, and she gradually had become less tetchy with her surroundings, along with the company that welcomed her into comforting conversation. Nonetheless, Arthur respected her wishes of being left alone and continued to refrain from engaging in any confrontations until she was ready to speak up herself. Until then, he had a stage-coach robbery to focus on, first and foremost.

On horseback, Arthur, Charles, Javier, and Bill had arrived at the spot that had been previously investigated and was intended for scoping-out. It was currently mid-day, the violent rays of the scorching sun pummeled through their skins with intent. In preparation, knuckles cracked, muscles relaxed, revolvers and pistols were holstered securely, and repeaters and rifles had slung over their backs, though at the ready.

Silently, the four gunslingers had aligned their steeds alongside one another, patiently awaiting the arrival of the stage-coach, though, it was calculated that the wagon would not ride through the nearby trail for another couple of minutes, which gave enough time for the thieves to negotiate a well-thought out plan that wouldn't create an abundance of chaos.

"Say, Charles, you're good with plans, you got one?" Arthur inquired eagerly as he leaned over his saddle to prop his arms on either side of the horn, scrutinizing the view of the road intently.

"Well, I was thinking once we get our horses out of here, you and I will hide behind those boulders near the road-" Charles paused shortly, pointing with his index finger for direction and specifics, whilst Arthur nodded in confirmation, "-while Javier stays over here to cover us using a long-ranged rifle," he finalized in mere recommendation, collecting his Carbine and draping it over his back.

"You think I can distract them by acting like some drunkard? Like them other times we go robbin' a stage?" Bill mischievously proposed as he flung his gaze between Charles and Arthur's neutral expressions that hadn't said much in particular, though he was expecting an answer. "It'll force them fools to stop, you know, and give you guys an easy shot for the driver."

"You must be careful not to get yourself shot, amigo," Javier reminded directly, withdrawing a distanced, precision rifle from the side of his horse's saddle as he side-eyed Bill's hunched posture. With the roll of his eyes, Bill swatted a nonchalant hand in his direction.

"And, Williamson, remember to align yourself with a boulder, so when shots begin to fire, you can dive towards it and avoid getting killed during your distraction," Charles remarked while dismounting his steed with ease, Bill gesturing an understandable tilt of his head downwardly. The rest of the outlaw's mirrored Charles' exact movement, realizing that the stage-coach should begin to stroll across the path at any given moment.

"Don't go messin' up, now, you hear?" Arthur teasingly called out to the departing gunslinger that vibrated with obvious excitement, preparing himself for an act of a lifetime, though as intended, the sly comment caused an antagonized expression to mask Bill's moment of exhilaration.

"Oh, shut up, Morgan," he barked over his shoulder, murmuring consistent curses under his breath.

With a slight smack on the bum, their horses gradually fled in a hurried gallop into nearby pasture. Arthur and Charles each jogged to their precise location behind the average-sized boulders that were placed on either side of the road, straight across from the other. Javier stood in place as he gripped tightly onto his rifle, before moving into prone position in sheer preparation for the upcoming gunfight.

Interestingly, in crouching position, Arthur peaked over the edge of the rock. Slightly, he squinted his eyes to clarify his sights, noticing the stage-coach had been tumbling down the path in a peaceful pace whilst a couple of guards were on horseback along the side-lines, rifles and repeaters positioned on their shoulders in case of any suspicious interruptions. In slight shock, his eyebrows raised at a newfound realization, though he ceased his upcoming sensation of joy until the coach had grown closer in distance. And, when it did, he shoved a single peak of an eye outwardly, before noting mentally, a menacing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, _Uncle said there should've been six on horseback, but there seems to be less; four, to be exact. The easier, the better._

Huffing a heavy sigh, he wiped a gloved hand over his features warily, though all he could sense was an overwhelming feeling of euphoria, knowing that his eyes didn't dare to deceive him. Focusing upon the matter, he glanced towards Charles to check on him, whom was also positioned in a low crouch as his back was pressed against the structure defensively, his repeater budged in both of his hands.

Mere moments had passed, nearby clusters of hooves could be heard in resemblance to rhythmical drumbeats, and the repetitive sounds became much clearer as the coach drew closer along the dusty road.

"One night, when I was frisky…" Bill drunkenly slurred as he tumbled about, timing the stage-coach movements perfectly. Arthur couldn't help but crack a small, humorous smile as he overheard a fool's act. "Over some potent whisky…"

"Hey, get off the road, you idiot!" The clown of a stage-coach driver-whom sported a helluva curly mustache and an intense, southern drone of speech that did not let him properly enunciate his words-had spat violently and rather authoritatively over Bill's dreadful callouts of substantial tuneful notes, before ceasing the workhorses to stop before the apparent drunkard. The vigorous guards that were positioned on horseback shot quizzical and perplexed looks toward the awful, intoxicated singer. Expectantly, with scrunched brows, those located inside the coach peaked their head out of the windows to find out what all the racket and incessant babbles were coming from, and at this point, it might as well be labeled as a show of entertainment.

"Like the waves of the Bay of Biscay…" Bill trailed off scratchily, his drawn-out voice decreased in volume immensely. The meaningless words he attempted to sing aloud in slurs were nothing but nonsense to the guards as he abruptly dropped to his knees, his eyelids becoming heavier as they began to shut, murmuring dramatically in the process, "I began to tumble… and…roar."

In apparent exaggeration, Bill collapsed onto the surface of the road with intent, the entirety of his weight currently sprawled carelessly on the ground as he was purposely positioned face-down.

Cohesively, the stage-coach driver and the rest of the guards each had a facial expression that resembled one another's, ogling at Bill's unmoving posture blankly or clearly agonized at the sight of the tipsy fool that interrupted their delivery.

"For Heaven's sake…" the irritated driver had grumbled loudly, throwing his arms into the air, clearly infuriated. Immediately, his attention shifted from Bill, to one of the guards that were located on his left-hand side. "Hey, Deek, you mind movin' this son of a bitch off the road so we can pass through?"

"N-no problem, Mr. Cliff, s-sir," Deek staggered hopelessly in response, though, it wasn't necessarily known whether he could control it or not.

Livid, with impatience that only grew shorter, Mr. Cliff narrowed the slits of his eyes at Deek, noticing that he didn't budge to get off his mount to follow up on his order. " _Now_ , you goddamn imbecile."

"O-oh! Getting' to it, s-sir!"

Incredulously, Arthur shook his head, before tilting his head downwardly, musing at the current situation that felt as if it had been going on for hours. _Just where the hell do they find these incapable people?_

Hurriedly, Deek quickly dismounted his horse, scampering over towards Bill's motionless body. Arthur was genuinely impressed with Bill's patience as even _he_ was growing extensively agitated with all the useless babble that was unfolding. Deek bent over and attempted to flip Bill's heaviness over, though failed horribly after a third trial.

Suddenly, it had seemed as if Bill had done it for him, for he, then, gave Deek a twisted grin as he stuck out his revolver and pointed the weapon straight towards his gut. With the gun cocked, one powerful bullet was all it took to barrel through the air between them and tear directly through his skin as the guard had yelped in apparent agony. Roughly, Bill threw himself towards the boulder toward the right-side of the road, securely behind cover.

At that, the gunfight had finally begun, as an array of bullets had crackled through the brisk air. The sour-faced driver, Mr. Cliff, now had a countenance filled of pure horror and genuine fear as he began to tremble dramatically at the sight of Deek's lifeless body slumped over on the ground. Although, stupidly, he had attempted to urge the workhorses forward with the repeated slap of the reins, but, he didn't seem to go that far. Resembling a harsh flick, Mr. Cliff was thrown off the stage's wooden seating as the left side of his face had split gruesomely from the heavy bullet that drove through his features dastardly, Javier's instant engagement in the gunfire presenting honest accuracy and great precision, nonetheless.

With the wagon immobilized, desperate neighs and frantic whinnies was all that had been heard as blood had been carelessly shed. Arthur withdrew his Volcanic pistol from his leather holster, and with extensive concentration, he thumbed back the hammer, squinted an eye attentively, and fired the precise weaponry as it drove through the second guardsman's torso, throwing him off his horse with an audible thump as it jetted off into the remote horizon. The terrified guard seethed and gasped harshly as he held a tight grip on his gushing wound, attempting to refrain the pooling of the crimson liquid to overflow any further. He began to jerk hopelessly on the ground, his coal-colored eyes clearly bloodshot, and any sign of life that was left within them, seemingly began to drain at a fast pace, before, eventually, his spastic, sudden movements gradually slowed, coming to a deathly conclusion.

Hastily, Arthur calculated that only four guardsmen remained; two in the stage-coach, clearly not budging from their position, and two others, whom dismounted their horses at the knowledge of their fallen ones ahead of them. Both men had dove behind the carriage, taking cover in a defensive stance, but they knew they had this war lost, and there was no way of winning it. Javier picked off the one that was closest to him, and a shot was all it took for the guard to drop to the ground with no hope of coming back up, whilst his partner, panic-stricken, yelped, completely terrified.

Spinelessly, the last three guards seemed to have been the rookies of the crew, as they all had abandoned their usage of any weapon. Promptly, and pointedly, the passengers of the carriage had tossed their repeaters outside the stage's windows to showcase their resignation. In surrender, the trembling duo threw their hands in the air once they had scampered out onto the road, along with the other remaining guard, whom succumbed to the inevitable conclusion of the fight as well, fear found in all their eyes.

Insultingly, Arthur scoffed, ashamed at the sight of the cowards that shivered before him. As the group of outlawed thieves proceeded to advance, Bill kept a steady aim on the guards, or more so, captives at this point, whilst chortling wickedly as they cowered in honest fright under the opposite end of the barrel.

"L-listen, mister, I got a family," one of the guardsmen, seemingly in his olden years, had protested shakily, and as if it was going to help, he positioned his hands up to his face the more Bill had veered his weapon towards them. "I got a w-wife and a daughter."

"We won't say nothin'!" cried one of the others, resembling an actual rookie and much afraid of looking death in the eye. Arthur felt a pang of sorrow erupt from within him, for whatever reason, as he noticed it was just a young man that didn't want to be face-to-face with the idea of his life abruptly ending by a mere bullet. His bottom lip quivered uneasily, most likely horrified of even considering of having the same fate as his fallen comrades. "We promise! Just let us go, sir, please."

Soon enough, Javier had reached the bunch, joining alongside them in a casual manner. He slung the distance rifle over his shoulder and drew his repeated, his hold tight and at the ready to use. He scrutinized the trio of milksops in utter shame along with the rest of his crew that mirrored his exact expression.

Arthur withdrew his focus off the group of pleaders and onto the matter at hand, remembering Hosea's words of efficiency and execution. Though, with the absence of a lock-pick, Arthur whirled away from the strong box located at the back of the carriage, grumbling curses under his breath. Nothing else was on his mind, but the rapidity of getting the money and riding back to camp. He trudged over to the eldest of the three guardsmen, snatched at the collar of his uniform shirt, and urged him to walk forward with a rough shove.

"Open it," Arthur barked with an abundance of impatience, withdrawing his pistol and projecting it outwardly towards the quavering man, though, only for threatening purposes.

"O-okay, okay, just, please don't shoot—"

"I might as well goddamn shoot you, if you don't shut up and do as I say," Arthur aggressively budged the man with the frontal barrel of his pistol to urge him forward. Seemingly, at the touch, he began to shake and sob uncontrollably, causing Arthur to roll his eyes in evident disbelief. Albeit, the fearful man proceeded to do as he demanded.

Once the strong box had been pried open, Arthur harshly shoved the guard to the side, utterly disgusted by his incessant cries, before tending to the strong box attentively. Piles and stacks of money had been placed in an orderly fashion, and Arthur could feel his momentary annoyance being quickly swept away at the beautiful sight. His light green eyes widened and glinted in adoration as his grumble-of-a-mood diverted to a giddier one, feeling similarly to being on top of the world at this point.

"How's it lookin', Morgan?" Bill called out in interest.

"Promising," Arthur joyfully remarked. Amongst some other things, cash is about the only thing that instills utmost exhilaration within his careless attitude, and not many would disagree.

In a fast pace, Charles handed him a separate, double-sided satchel that he slung over his shoulder, and automatically, Arthur began to rapidly shove the stacks of payroll into the bag, one-after-the-other. In finalization, he flung the strap over his shoulder, its weight a bit heavier, though, felt rather comforting at the same time. He took one last look in the box, searching every single crevice and corner, in case if there was anything else leftover inside. Although, to his dismay, his hopes were let down as he found nothing out of the ordinary, shooting a significant nod to his gangmates as a signal that they were ready to depart.

Javier and Bill gave a threatening speech to the trio of weaklings, before they collectively sprinted into the opposite direction, their arms flailing wildly in the air, desiring nothing else than to get away from the thieves. Arthur shook his head, witnessing with shame as they did so, but, the sly smirk that played at the corners of his lips faded in an instant.

A violent crack of a gunshot in the near distance caught one of the guards in the eye socket, specifically the young rookie, causing Arthur and the rest of the crew's eyes to widen as they hastily searched their surroundings in a cautious manner, attempting to locate where it had been coming from. Another couple of bullets rang out loudly, and this time, it knocked down the other two guards that had remained, not a single sign of any leftover movement, as Arthur knew they had met their demise.

The gang spotted a small group of O'Driscoll's near the cliffside, only being recognizable for their masked intrusions from previous attacks. Their horses were stationed wholesomely behind them, having arrived while Arthur and the gang were busy shooting and robbing. Collectively, Arthur and the others drew their weapons at the ready, launching themselves towards the only cover that they had; the carriage.

"Shit," Arthur grumbled angrily to himself as a harsh bullet drove through the wood of the carriage, only inches from his head, as splinters and miniscule pieces sprayed outwardly and fell brokenly onto the ground.

 _Guess they got the same memo that there was a robbery_ , he mused promptly.

Slickly, he peeked out from the wagon during a mere second of the opposing gang's reloading time and fired countless shots at two different men with great precision, nonetheless. Undoubtedly, they received every bullet, their stiff bodies slumped forward and plummeted over the cliffside, their weapons raining down along with them.

Arthur knew the O'Driscoll's to be a group of incompetent lowlifes, and for whichever situation that they had placed themselves in, they were unable to grasp common intellect to sort out a proper plan or even attempt at doing so. Due to previous engagements, Colm and the rest of his gigantic cult of hired-guns execute things with no such thought put into it, and seemingly come out as utter failures in the end, weltering away like obvious cowards that they are when the outcomes tend to be unfavorable.

For instance, once Javier had impaled one of the O'Driscoll's hands, their repeater flying off to the ground, they, as a whole, or more so, whoever was left of the cluster, began to jet off, retreating, as expected, to their horses that awaited them nearby.

Curiously, Arthur checked on Bill, Javier, and Charles, grateful to know that they hadn't been touched by a bullet in the process. Though, Arthur's veins boiled with consistent infuriation, his fist clenching harshly at the thought of their invasion that caused insignificant death, for no reason at all. With a huff, he shrugged off the money bag from his shoulder, and handed it to Charles, reminding them to get back to camp, to not be followed, and to sort out the cash evenly, along with the gang's share. Bill, Javier, and Charles didn't have a second to ask Arthur what he was planning on doing, or why he wasn't riding to camp with them, but in this case, Arthur was too angry to care whether to give them an explanation.

Mounting Bea, a wounded O'Driscoll's bloody trail had led Arthur's scrutinized gaze to the specific enemy gang member, whom rode his horse in the nearby distance, although, in line of sight. He urged Bea forward harshly toward the O'Driscoll that had been bleeding profusely, his horse visibly at a decent gallop, causing Bea's tremendous speed to catch up to the escapee gracefully, drawing closer with immediate quickness.

 _You ain't getting' away, boy_ , Arthur's thoughts echoed loudly, as he grimaced gravely, extracting a lasso from his saddle bag.

Gaining enough ground, Arthur drew his eyebrows forward, heaved the rope over his head, and twirled it in a circular maneuver for a couple of moments. At the sound of Bea's hooves, the unnamed O'Driscoll turned to look over his shoulder, his eyes widening at Arthur's nearby presence, only inching closer by the second. With gritted teeth, his expression masked lividly, Arthur flung the lasso towards the panic-stricken O'Driscoll, which, instantly wrapped around his willowy body, causing him to jolt backwards, and completely off his horse that raced off into the distance.

Halting Bea, Arthur hopped off his saddle and stomped over to the individual, whose identity remained concealed. They began to struggle under the lasso's tight hold around their arms, shouting consistent cries for help, as if anyone was around to do so. Arthur hogtied the O'Driscoll skillfully and efficiently, before yanking the executioner mask that he had used to cover his face, meeting stiff gazes with a green-eyed man. The length of his messy dark-brown hair was decently long, including his beard, and was seemingly a bit younger than Arthur was.

"Mister, please, I—"

"Shut up," Arthur spat viciously, flipping the O'Driscoll's weight over and heaving him over his shoulder with ease, plopping him over Bea's rump in an instant.

"W-why are you doin' this?" he responded with a slight stagger, fear audibly heard in his tone as he did so.

"Because, you killed those people we purposely set free, and for what?"

"I didn't kill 'em, mister! It was those other guys!" he cried pleadingly as Arthur reined Bea down the path towards Horseshoe Overlook in a steady gallop, his vision narrowing at the swaying greenery below.

"All you O'Driscoll's are one in the same, feller," Arthur's words dripped with utter toxicity and vexation at the nerve that the blabbermouth had. "You all take the fault for the same crime."

"I ain't an O'Driscoll!" He shouted over the consistent pounding of Bea's hooves against the solid ground. "You're actin' like you didn't shoot some innocent fellers, before you robbed that stage."

"I shoot those who need shootin' and I shoot those who shoot back. I do recall them guards shootin' back," Arthur reasoned lividly, baffled by the responses that he was given. He bit back the urge to swing his clenched fist at the O'Driscoll to shut him up, although, the action would be well-deserved. "We let those men go, because they surrendered, but you goddamn bastards shot 'em dead, for nothin'."

"I didn't shoot any of them, nor did I shoot at any of you!"

"Now that you're hogtied and on the back of a man's horse, _of course_ , you're goin' to say that," Arthur chortled bitterly, shaking his head in a manner of pure disgust. "You'll learn your damn lesson."

"A lesson?" he murmured with an audible shiver in his tone, as if he was calculating exactly what Arthur had meant thoroughly in his mind. "W-where are you takin' me?"

"For you, I suppose it'd be hell."

From the simplicity that dripped from Arthur's words, the O'Driscoll began to sulk, constant sniffles and pleads were all that was heard, causing Arthur to roll his eyes as he pondered to himself, _do all these fools cry out the fear?_

"Will you shut up?" Arthur rasped pointedly, flicking his gaze over his broad shoulder for a short moment before focusing his sights on the road, once more. "Are all you O'Driscoll's weak cowards?"

"For the last time, mister, I ain't an O'Driscoll!"

"Then, who are you, O'Driscoll?"

The anonymous individual sniffled once more as Arthur awaited a needed response, wiping a gloved hand over his brow that had slightly trickled with sweat. "My name is Kieran Duffy, and I ain't with them animals, I swear."

"Well, Kieran Duffy, I recommend you hang tight and stop your damn cryin'. We're nearin' my camp and the folk there ain't goin' to be too happy to see you, or treat you fairly," Arthur reminded bluntly, a victorious smirk began to tug at the corner of his lips, before continuing in a rough rasp, "I'll make sure of that, O'Driscoll."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Temptations, Bounties, and A Start to A Friendship**

What was supposed to be a short, relaxing ride back to camp, ended up feeling like the longest minutes of Arthur's life. Kieran, the yapper of an O'Driscoll, would not stop crying, trembling, whining, and giving Arthur an utter earful, to say the least. For several moments in contemplation, he wanted to wind his fist and knock the fusser out cold, only for the time being, but he decided against it. The O'Driscoll's knowledge of Colm's whereabouts was important, especially for Dutch, as he always mentioned wanting to take an O'Driscoll hostage for questioning. Not only was that Arthur's reasoning for dragging along a ghastly human-being to camp, but a part of him wanted to show a certain widow that the gang frowns upon the likes of them.

Once Kieran was hauled into camp, the other gang members moods diverted in an instant as they had all paused in their tracks, witnessing the horrid sight of a bloodied O'Driscoll that had crossed their home, visibly dripping with disaster. All their reactions had ranged from perplexed and hateful countenances to ones of sheer disgust, which didn't appear to be much of a surprise. Yet, it had become crystal clear that Mrs. Adler had given him the most unpleasant look of all, no doubt about it. Any person with eyes could tell that she had the utmost desire to stomp up to the enemy and slit his throat on sight. A dark flame quaked in her almond-shaped eyes that almost made it inexplicable to convey her following actions. Her stony expression drenched of pure disdain as her upper lip curled, which Arthur found quite alarming. With every step the O'Driscoll had taken forward, she had glared the most deathly of glares in his direction, and sharp-edged daggers seemed as if they had invisibly flung, impaling him, causing him to cower under her scrutiny alone. Arthur had never really known a human-being that fumed with such vibrant anger as Mrs. Adler's showcasing of emotions. And, at the sight of that, he concluded that Kieran may not even last the rest of the night with all his limbs still attached to his body.

In terms of information and further planning, Dutch was rather overjoyed at the thought of an O'Driscoll settled on campgrounds, at least, only if he was securely bound to a tree, through the day and night, along with a sharp eye glued on him for precautionary measures. Abigail and Reverend Swanson had tended to his wound, successfully initiating the recuperation process, which lessened the amount of a wailer he was, albeit, he still nagged. Due to Kieran remaining a total stranger, an unpredictable fellow, and most of all, an O'Driscoll, Arthur made sure he couldn't budge out of his restraints at the slightest, reassuring the safety of others.

On the other hand, Hosea wasn't too fond of the idea; an O'Driscoll holed up at camp for a foolish interrogation, as it could lead to problematic investigations from Colm, along with the Pinkertons sniffing about. Let alone, it would cause Dutch to begin conjuring a whirlpool of possible vengeful ideals in terms of Colm. And, as expected, Dutch made it clear that once a plan was set and inside knowledge was relentlessly acquired, he would set forth the continuation of ambushing Colm's hideout, in search for the deceitful leader himself.

With that in mind, and no time to waste, Dutch hungrily smacked the O'Driscoll with a load of questions that the annoying bleater would answer in dramatic huffs and sighs, an act that maybe a fool would give in to, but it would not surpass the Van der Linde gang. Arthur and the rest of the folk knew that Kieran would spill any details of Colm's whereabouts at a single sliver of a threat. Whether it'd be vocalized or physically done, Kieran was surely to cough out any answers that the gang had needed, not only because it didn't take much to induce fear within him, but in accordance to his statements, he claimed to have no relations with the gang, nor did he enjoy being a part of it, but Arthur knew not to believe a word he said.

During the first few days and nights, randomly scattered amongst a period of time, the audible sounds of repetitive sobbing could be heard from Kieran, which was rather inconvenient for Arthur since sleep didn't come easy nowadays. No matter how many times the man would plead, no one would flinch to look in his direction, due to the knowledge of where he had originated from. Although, a certain woman had great temptations to give him a piece of her mind, physically, but due to Dutch's wishes, verbal threats and shouts of antagonizations would do him enough justice, for now at least.

Above, the burning sun pierced ferociously upon Arthur's neck and features. He regretted leaving his hat on his bedside table as a surge of discomfort flowed through him from the heat that had clasped against his skin. He was fixated on the revolver he had been tending to in his left hand, a cleaning rag placed in the other. He swept the back of his gloved hand over his forehead as slight trickles of sweat had raced down from his hairline. Although he was normally accustomed to the humid weather, the relentless rays that never failed to cascade down upon the horizon was always a bit bothersome.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, lady!" Kieran shouted, a fearful tremble in his words, and instantaneously, Arthur perked his head up to find Mrs. Adler gripping the O'Driscoll by the collar in tight balled-fists. At his response, an even more twisted scowl merged upon her face.

"Here she goes," Arthur grumbled under his breath. He exhaled through his nostrils at the vigorous sight as a short moment of contemplation played in his mind, _this woman is goin' to end up killin' this fool._ He continued to eye the display of events that had been unfolding before him, noticing that none of the folks that passed had bothered to refrain her from throwing a fist at one of the many that she loathed; only merely chuckling at the scene _. But, watching that bastard receive a punch to the jaw wouldn't be so bad either_.

Arthur set his revolver and the rag aside, launched up from his seated position, and began to march over to the fuming widow that now had one of her arms arched high in the air, withholding a clenched fist that dangled menacingly. She narrowed her eyes, a growl of a reply followed, "Don't act stupid. Your no-good, piece of shit gang killed my husband up in the Grizzlies, in my own ranch-my _home_ , leaving me with _nothing_."

She emphasized her words in harsh seethes that drawled out so venomously, and with so much hatred, that even Arthur could feel her emotions in immense vividness, as if her tragedy had occurred to him. The flame in her eyes returned, only darker and wilder than before, as it was evidently shone in the way she had eyed the O'Driscoll that shook under her intimidating hold.

At this, Arthur rounded around Mrs. Adler, attempting to step into the intense stare-down, or more so, her frightening gaze on a petrified O'Driscoll, whom didn't dare to speak a word in return, or to interrupt.

"Mrs. Adler, I recommend you step away and calm down," Arthur reasoned gently, a set of safe and careful words gathered in his mind in a collective manner just in case her fist would decide to barrel into his face instead. At Arthur's suggestion, her cocoa-colored eyes peeled away and landed onto his tentative approach, his hands gesturing for her to simmer down.

"Why?" She replied through gritted teeth, the grip on Kieran's shirt only tightened as her focus returned to the O'Driscoll's unsettling features. "He's a good-for-nothing scumbag, just like the rest of the men in his group."

"I'm not with those men, miss, I think you have the wrong-"

"I _think_ if you say that one more time, I will knock the damn teeth out of your-"

Arthur's eyebrows raised, interrupting her threat, "Mrs. Adler, I want to punch the son of a bitch as much as you do, but he is going to lead us to Colm's hideout, which means you can't cause any harm to him, yet."

"Yet?" Kieran murmured to himself, bowing his head a smidge to stare at the dirt below. His bottom lip quivered as he delved into the sudden thought and possibilities of what could occur.

Arthur's explanation seemed to have worked, although, gradually, reminding Mrs. Adler that the O'Driscoll would not be harmed until appointed to do so, for Dutch had a plan of his own, and a good one, at that. Sadie conceded to Arthur's wishes, her inflamed nerves attempting to calm as she let out a verbal huff in frustration. Her countenance remained plastered with an icy scowl, and with an angry shove, she let go of Kieran's collar that had been wrinkled and bunched from her tenacious grip. The O'Driscoll began to straighten out the folds, and in case she changed her mind about throwing a punch or two, he attentively eyed the woman that ambled away from his proximity in a gradual pace.

"Are you alright, miss?" Arthur asked, attempting to find Sadie's gaze that became transfixed upon the soiled-ground. She had appeared to be deep in thought.

She nodded in reassurance, stating, "Yes, it's just… every time I walk by that son of a bitch, all I want to do is strangle him."

"Well, you're not alone, I can assure you that."

"I think I need to leave for a bit," she considers, more to herself than directed to Arthur. "I feel so—"

"Constricted?" Arthur cuts off, curving a brow. She nodded curtly, meeting immediate gazes with his own that had already laid upon her side-profile. "Well, I feel like that almost every day, so whenever there's an errand to be done, I don't hesitate to go out and do it."

She was enveloped in a short moment of rumination, her eyebrows closely knitted as an idea hit her all at once, "Were you plannin' on doing something?"

"I was in the process of fetchin' a bounty," Arthur answered, "I was cleanin' my guns."

"Perfect, I'll come with you."

Disbelievingly, Arthur's head jerked backwards at her voluntary prepositionstatement. "I'm gettin' a _bounty_ , miss—"

Sadie interjected, "I heard what you said, and I'm not askin'. I want to come."

"I understand that," he paused, and gave her a slow nod, "But, it's dangerous, and you're just a—"

"A woman?" She guffawed humorously, clasping a hand against her chest in slight offense at the sexist implication.

Arthur inclined his head to the side, the corner of his thin lips quirked at her mockful gesture, correcting his misunderstood explanation, "Well, I wasn't goin' to say _that_ , Mrs. Adler, I was just implyin' that a bounty isn't an easy job. You've been held up at camp for a while now, and the first thing you want to do is bring in a bounty?"

Sadie pursed her lips, frankly stating, "Mr. Morgan, I'll have you know that I am familiar with using a gun when prompted to do so. My husband and I shared the work, whether it had to do with huntin', muckin', plowin', anythin' you can think of. We did it, all of it, and if you'd like me to, I can prove my shootin' skills on our O'Driscoll over there, if necessary."

 _I don't doubt it_ , he thought.

With a sardonic facial appearance, Arthur glanced at Kieran, noting the sad boy had been slouched despairingly on the ground as if he was stuck in the pit of hell. He made final eye contact with Sadie, his jumbled mind littering with incoming thoughts to conclude his decision. He couldn't necessarily believe how much the woman had changed in a matter of a week or two. The times she had been waving off his greetings, wandering by her lonesome, had seemed so recent, at least that's how it felt for Arthur. Although, at this very moment, he noticed that there was a menacing, faraway gleam that flickered in both of her eyes, but he couldn't convey it, not even the slightest. Her posture straightened, appearing calm and collective, her thin arms folded across her chest as she presented a stance of confidence. Arthur's decision wavered as his gaze narrowed. With patience, she waited for an inch of an approval.

Arthur propped his hands on his hips, all his weight plunked on one foot. Arthur sucked his teeth, his reel of contemplation ended, "Fine, but you can't go guns blazin' out there. You got to do the job the way I want it done. After all, the bounty's got to be _alive_."

She swung her hand through the air with ease, "Yeah, yeah, don't I know it."

Arthur eyed Mrs. Adler, slight concern welled up within him, and due to the things she had been going through, he thought she may not be having the right ideas or have the mentality to make proper decisions. "Now, before I gather my belongings, are you sure you don't want to do somethin', I don't know, less capable of turning out violent?"

Sadie snickered. "From my observations, I don't think anything y'all do has an ounce of honorable behavior."

"'Course we do, at times, and we're bad, but that ain't all that we are," he replied, leaving his explanation hanging in the air. He turned on his spurs and began to walk towards the log where his revolver had been placed. Intrigued, Sadie decided to follow, listening to his words with intent as she trailed close behind. "Yes, we live differently than what them Pinkertons abide by, and that paints us as people that are relentless, atrocious, dishonorable, and all the above, but it don't mean we all fall under the same spectrum as those who rape women and kill innocents when they get the sudden itch. We ain't like that and we surely ain't your typical group of outlaws that are malicious and ravenous."

Sadie visibly flinched at his words, almost as if she's been physically hurt by what he had uttered. Though, the uneasy, looming feeling dispersed, unable to be comprehended by her or Arthur. She cleared her throat, inquiring in an awkward undertone, "So, um, you're saying robbing people, banks, stage-coaches, and killin' those who are escorting it ain't in the same degree?"

She watched every move Arthur had made as he snatched the revolver and the rag, took a seat on the log, and resumed cleansing its compartments. She bit the inside of her cheek, interested in his incoming answer as he quirked the corner of his lips back-and-forth, musing at her question and developing an earnest retort.

"No, well, like I said, we're bad people, but we do have a sense of humanity, although, you may not see that right now. We _are_ family and because of the bond that we have, we do what we have to do to keep us together, no matter what," he reasoned, though Sadie wasn't quick to say a word, only remaining silent as ever, taking in every sentence. His line of sight didn't veer away from the weaponry, scrutinizing every crevice, before continuing, "Truth is, Mrs. Adler, time has outrun us all. I've had this conversation with Mary-Beth, Tilly, Hosea, and the other folk. It wasn't much of a crime to walk into a saloon, grab a feller by the neck, and kill him because he was talkin' bad about your wife. It was somethin' that people waved off and it was sort of the nature of things. Now, it seems as if the whole world has become corrupt by the law, restricting that type of behavior, and those who continue to live by that, those like us, well, I guess we just aren't accepted no more."

"Don't you ever think the law is a good thing?" she rasped in a quizzical drawl.

"Sometimes, sure," he nodded, pinching an eye shut as he assured necessary maintenance to the rear cylinder that contained multiple chambers, cleansing every one of the spaces thoroughly. "I've been thrown into this life when I was just a boy, and I've become accustomed to it. I don't think I could leave this gang if I wanted to, after all, loyalty is important to me and the rest 'o us. We may be doin' wrong, sure, but again, we're family. There's kind folk in this gang, as you may have noticed, and those like Micah—" Arthur grimaced at the mention of the outlaw, "-but there's people like the O'Driscoll's as well, and they're the worst of the worst. You can see the difference between us and them- _they_ are relentless, and we're just out here tryin' to survive as best as we can. I guess, that's what I'm tryin' to get at, is all."

Sadie uncomfortably retracted her eyes away from him, the flashback of her husband's death played clear in her mind at the mention of the ruthless gang that she despised with her whole being. It shrouded her daily thoughts, her ability to feel any emotions, leaving her with a significant amount of numbness. It hovered over her like a dark cloud; the knowing sensation of immense infuriation burrowed through her once more, causing her to clench a fist.

At the absence of a reply, Arthur looked up from his gun, and noticed Sadie engrossed in her own mind, which he found that she did often. She seemed as if she wasn't in touch with her surroundings, her thoughts engulfing her ability to react at certain moments, which he familiarized and related to. He flicked the cylinder back into place with a _click_ and holstered the weapon. He hopped up to his feet with an exhausted groan and a crack of his joints following his actions. He peered down at Sadie, a distant look remained upon her features, as he parted his lips and spoke, "Well?"

"Huh?" She hummed herself out of the spaced-out state she was under, reuniting her oval-shaped eyes with his.

"Are we goin' to hunt that bounty, then, woman?"

"Oh, yes, I'll get my belongings," and, with that, she turned and left toward her setup across the way. It had seemed as if the 'belongings' she was referring to had been a hat that Karen had loaned her. It differentiated from Arthur's in size and width. Unlike his, Sadie's held a lighter tint of brown, almost matching the color of her hair. The brim of her hat dipped a smidge, and the folds were much flatter, suiting her rough demeanor nicely.

Arthur lent her a revolver, preferably a Cattleman, and placed a lasso in her saddlebag. Lenny offered her a Lancaster repeater, causing her to vibrate with an abundance of excitement. Once they were ready, they made their way to their steeds and mounted them with ease, kickstarting their journey.

As they began to trot down the path and out of the bustling camp, Arthur looked over at Sadie in observation, closely taking in her appearance. He had noticed her hair was no longer freely cascading down her back, but now in a flawless braid that draped over one of her shoulders. She was more well-kept and tidy than the first time he had met her. Even then, she had an aura that roared an immense amount of confidence and a strong-willed attitude that no one can easily talk down to, but now, it had screamed louder than ever. It had seemed she was reverting to who she once was, or maybe into something more, due to the impact of the tragedy she had gone through. He couldn't help but give himself a mental pat-on-the-back due to his decision-making in accordance to presenting her with a peaceful place such as the gang's home. The fact that she has the desire to be a part of errands and daily routines stood out to him, maybe primarily in hopes to keep herself and her mind busy, but it was a step to a possible addition to the family; a great one, at that.

Gallantly, Sadie held her chin high, an arm dangled over the side of her saddle, as a hand had a loose hold on the reins. _I just hope she can handle this life_ , Arthur thought to himself, _not many can_.

Per Arthur's request, as it was necessary, he and Sadie visited the sheriff's office in the buzzing town of Valentine, which brought many wild memories that had transpired only weeks ago. Arthur had a tremendous amount of questions that had conjured up in his mind, in accordance to the bounty himself. Sadie, on the other hand, understood Arthur's reasoning for his curious inquiries, but grew impatient, nonetheless, as she desired to slide on the back of her horse and get the job done, but as always, awful planning isn't ideal.

The sheriff gave specific information and deeper detailing of the supposed murderer, along with the reminder of dropping off the bounty at any town, the poster required for presentation. Once Arthur was satisfied with the knowledge of the apparent murderer on the bounty poster, he gave the sheriff an appreciative farewell, and shot Sadie a nod of finalization, causing her to let out a thankful exhale in terms of the momentary boredom that had come to an end.

In no time, they were back on the dry, cruddy road, the light chill of the wind blew in occasional gusts as it whipped through Bea's and the Morgan's manes, along with their riders, however in the softest of puffs. Alongside one another, their horses galloped at a reasonable and comforting pace, whereas the pair could enjoy the wonderous view that was draped across the wide horizon without exhausting the animals. The knee-high grass below flowed in a gentle sway as the randomized placements of thick, tall trees hugged the mucky trail, instilling a tranquil state to wash over the content riders at the extravagancy that would enter their line of vision. Large rocky structures were visible in the far-off distance as slight streaks of the evening sun shone through. The undeniable beauty that the land held was coherently thought to be remarkable to the set of companions. The tuneful repetition of the countless species of flight-birds that soared above, joining along on their adventurous journey, was soothing. The absence of casual conversations didn't stand out to be awkward, and tended to be relieving, nonetheless.

"So, Mr. Morgan, tell me about the bounty, as I'm sure after that visit, you must know every bit of information that there is to possibly know," Sadie sarcastically inputted, glancing to her attentive friend that had been scrutinizing the bounty poster lodged in his hands for a bit of time now.

Rolling his eyes at her laughable remark, Arthur perked his head up momentarily to look at her, before inspecting the paper, once more. A small smile managed to tug at the corner of his lips, although it went unnoticed by her.

"Well, the bastard's name is Gregory Reed. He's been known to kill women, or more specifically, prostitutes, and has been seen around Strawberry…" his eyebrows drew forward as a sudden realization hit him like a brick, raising his gaze to look at his fellow rider, a troubled expression to overcome his features. "Miss, why are you asking me about the bounty if you were in the sheriff's office with me?"

She half-shrugged, a blunt reply followed, "I wasn't listenin'."

In disbelief, Arthur pulled on the reins, forcing Bea to an immediate stop as Sadie mirrored his action as well, confused at the reasoning. "I knew this was a terrible idea…why don't we—"

Sadie stared at him incredulously, interjecting his incoming suggestion, "Why?"

"Because, you ain't takin' this seriously, ma'am, and I'm concerned that your uneasy state of mind is goin' to get you killed," Arthur folded the poster and returned it neatly into his satchel. He began to rein Bea the opposite way, but a petite hand clasped onto them, refraining him from continuing onward.

Taken aback, his stern words antagonizing her, the volume of her voice heightened a bit as she maintained the firm hold on the withered straps, "It sure as hell ain't goin' to get me killed, Mr. Morgan, I ain't stupid and I know what I'm doin'."

"It ain't about bein' stupid-it's about makin' the wrong choice, so if you'd like, we can take an easier approach to spendin' the day, like huntin' or fishin', which is equally as useful to do."

"I will do just fine," Sadie calmingly stated, huffing in invigoration, "Now, if you would please, let us continue on what we rode out to do. I'll listen, don't you worry, and I'll perform under your instructions."

At Sadie's persistency and utter stubbornness, Arthur grudgingly removed his hat, ran a hand through his hair, and slabbed it back on, ogling the saddle's horn in a thoughtful manner. In truth, he had been looking forward to taking up on the job for a while now, as it pays well for bringing the bounty in alive. Missing the chance of eighty dollars for a crazed murderer would be rather upsetting.

Avoiding eye contact, he ruffled through his satchel and unfolded the poster, once more, hoping that this decision didn't end up with one or the other dead. In attempt to relax, and focus on the matter at hand, he rolled his shoulders, and spurred Bea onto the correct direction of the path, continuing toward the last seen location of Gregory Reed.

Sadie smiled a tad at the victorious ruling over the argument with the outlaw. In a decent canter, their horses matching speeds, she summed up, "So, the name is Gregory Reed, murders women, last seen around Strawberry, what else?"

"That's basically it," Arthur mumbled, his tone carrying slight frustration, though as he thought it went unnoticeable, he was wrong.

"Are you always so sour-faced?" Mrs. Adler asked.

"Or, so I'm told," he rasps, "To be frank with you, you aren't much of a happy person, either, miss."

"It's because I'm not," she states, her brows drew forward as she witnesses Arthur study the poster intensely, once again, "What the hell are you readin' on that poster? You've been lookin' at that for ten minutes now."

At the line of prompted questions, he flexed his jaw, and without budging, he gave Sadie a sideways glance, "Miss, you ask too many questions. I'm readin' the poster, because I like retainin' the information, and you know, doin' the job right, which I ain't entirely sure you're familiar with doin'."

"Well, aren't you _sarcastic_ ," she commented, narrowing her eyes at his exterior, but had found his response amusing, nonetheless, and not, in fact, insulting in any way. Looking away, she muttered discretely to herself, "Bitter and sour-faced man."

He lifted a brow as his head whirled to look at her, an interrogative expression appeared on his face, "What'd you say, lady?"

"Nothin'," she retorted, wafting a hand at him. The way he had addressed her nicked at one of her nerves, "And, my name is Sadie, not lady."

"I know that, _lady_ , you just didn't want me callin' you by your name, remember?"

"Well, I'm givin' you the pass, so enough of that, Mr. Morgan."

"Call me Arthur, you didn't need a pass to address me by that."

A verbal reply didn't follow, as Sadie's eyes rolled in substitution for one.

After a lengthy ride that took about three hours or so, the town of Strawberry had entered their sights. Strawberry wasn't much of a livestock town like Valentine, but it sure imitated the amount of townsfolk that inhabited it. Strawberry was more of a hot spot for incoming tourists, as it was in a great location, surrounded by beauty. Derelict structures had been draped across either side of a wooden arch that hovered over a rippling river. Valentine seemed to have a bleaker appearance as to the abundance of mud that the town's path had, but Strawberry appeared livelier and colorful in a way, which Arthur grew a greater liking to.

"A wanted outlaw goin' after another wanted man, now that's interestin'," Sadie side-commented, breaking Arthur out of the realm of a daze he had gone in, in terms of the environment.

"Oh, shut up," his lips twitched upwardly as they rode alongside one another at a slowed and controlled pace. He gazed around at his surroundings, taking in the townsfolk that wandered from one structure, to the next. Focusing on what he had come to do, though, all the while remaining amazed with the appearance of the town, he looked over at Sadie that awaited a mention of a plan, "So, where should we start? Asking around at the post office, maybe, or the general store. You go on and ask at those locations, I'll just question some—"

Sadie witnessed Arthur hitch Bea before the post office and stared at him blankly. She disregarded his instructions, pursed her lips, and sardonically insisted, "Well, maybe since he _kills prostitutes_ , we, first, should ask the owner of the hotel if he's seen 'em."

Arthur blinked, and parted his lips to respond, but when nothing came to mind, he shut them. "Alright, yeah, I was thinkin' that, too."

"Mhm," she hummed, unconvinced. Arthur unhitched Bea and lead the mare alongside Sadie's Morgan, and together, they trudged over toward the direction of the hotel that had been located beside the sheriff's office-it was a short distance away. Arthur took notice of the climate that differentiated from Valentine's as chilly gusts of wind hit his face in breezes. Although the pungent and refreshing air was delightful, he wasn't accustomed to the dramatic change in temperature.

Upon arrival, in a coherent fashion, they hitched their furry animals beside each other at the posts. Their leather boots thumped heavily against the floorboards-their spurs spun and clinked as Arthur was the first to enter. Arthur's bluish-green eyes darted around the room and towards the stairs, taking in the seemingly normal environment, before walking up to the front desk. He scrutinized the owner with an attentive stare that intimidated him. He had a flimsy appearance, as if any violent confrontation or change of tone would scare him off, and Arthur's stare alone was making him cower. Round bifocals were propped against the bridge of his nose that he consciously adjusted. His dark mustache twirled upward at the ends, and it twitched as the owner returned a forced, widened grin of a greeting toward the outlaw and his fellow partner. He cleared his throat and gave a slight yank at the tie around his neck, before clasping his hands together, "So, are you two fine-looking folks looking for a room?"

Arthur and Sadie glanced at one another, laughable expressions grew upon their faces, before Arthur shook his head and grumbled a negated counter, "No—" he paused and outstretched the bounty poster in his hand, presenting it to the owner, "We're lookin' for this wanted man, it's government work, and see, we need to take 'em in, so have you seen him by any chance?"

In thought, the owner puckered his lips, grasping the poster and inspected the drawn picture closely. His sapphire eyes bulged out of their sockets, recognizing the bit of detailing that it withheld, "Yes, I have, as a matter of fact, I believe he booked a room not too long ago."

"Not too long ago, like, when, mister?" Sadie added, impatient.

"About an hour, perhaps," he informed, smoothing out his mustache with his fingertips. "And, now that I think about it, I heard screaming a bit ago, but you hear those type of things, so I didn't think much of it."

At that, Arthur threw his hands up in despair, not believing the words that the owner had informed them. He swept a leather-gloved hand down his face in obvious frustration and rubbed his palm at his scruffy beard. Sadie mirrored a similar reaction with the simultaneous roll of her eyes and a scoff of incredulity.

"Goddamnit, tell me what room he's in," Arthur rumbles.

"I sincerely apologize, sir, I—"

"I don't care for apologies, now tell me the damn room number, friend."

The hotel owner stammers and says, "H-he's occupying room five, mister."

Before Arthur takes a step forward, he turns toward Sadie, and orders, "Go on and wait outside, miss."

"Excuse me?" she projects, lifting an offended eyebrow, "I'm comin' with you, we're doin' this together, remember?"

"And, we are, so wait outside and keep watch in case the fool, if he's here, decides to jump off the balcony and escape," Arthur watches Sadie quirk the corner of her plump lips and nod her head, slowly but surely understanding and conceding to his plan. As Arthur began to march up the staircase, he called out to his feminine companion, "Be careful and don't be stupid. If he can't be handled, don't pursue him."

With that, the two separated and Arthur continued up the steps. At the top, he twisted around the railing and eyed the room number above the thick, wooden barrier of a door. He raised his knuckles up to the frame and knocked as he shouted, "Gregory Reed, you in there?"

Not a word. Not a sound.

Arthur clenched his jaw and knocked with a harsher impact, demanding in an authoritative tone, once more, "Mr. Reed, if you are in there, I recommend you open the door."

No reply came. Although, it didn't take a second longer for Arthur to catch onto a distinct sound that came from the other side of the door. It resembled a pair of boots hitting the floorboards, and at that, Arthur backed up, gained momentum, and kicked the door down. It swung inward and slammed against the wall behind it, the figure of a hurried, middle-aged man taking off, and leaping over the edge of the balcony.

 _As expected_ , Arthur thought.

Before he could sprint after him, his peripheral caught onto something else, as a nude woman, sprawled across the bedspread in a horrid pool of ruby liquid, steadily dripping from the reddened sheets, came into his view. Disgusted, Arthur attempting to look away from the late working girl that seemed to have been slashed at the throat, one of her arms hanging over the bed; lifeless.

There was no time to waste, as a bounty had been escaping by the second, and the thought of Sadie at the outer perimeter of the hotel had concerned him. Audible frantic whinnies could be heard as he raced out of the horror scene, down the stairs, and shouted for the owner to get the sheriff. He charged out of the hotel and mounted Bea, visuals of Sadie galloping after the bounty far-off down the main path-the opposite direction of where they had entered. He attempted to shout after her, but he knew, as stubborn as that woman was, he knew she wasn't going to listen. So, instead, he forcibly urged Bea after them, catching Sadie veer into another direction at the end of the trail, now away from view, due to the incline and rocky structure that embraced the path.

Arthur was behind, but he knew that Bea would catch up in no time. He leant over his saddle and patted the mare on the neck, mustering all the hope that Sadie wouldn't get herself killed.

A gunshot cracked and flared in the distance, causing Arthur's heart to temporarily stop at the unknown outcome of where it had derived from. He drew a breath, before ramming his spurs into Bea's side, reining the breathy animal further down the path, "C'mon, girl, faster!"

It didn't take long for his newfound findings to become clear to him. Arthur squinted curious eyes down the dusty trail, and as he rode a bit farther, closing in rather quickly, he noticed Sadie's horse stomping at the greenery below, thickets of bushes and shrubs scattered amongst the ground. The breath he had held, solely from the slight anxiety he developed from the unknowing-puffed out of his lungs and an exhale of pure relief left his lips thereafter.

Sadie had already bounded Gregory Reed in a tight hold with her lasso, as Arthur gaped at her impatient stance; hands on her hips, and a foot tapping against the soil.

 _She…she did it on her own?_ His subconscious mused.

"Mr. Morgan, It's about time you got here," She whirled around the hogtied bounty that had squirmed and rolled about. She greeted Arthur, who had hopped off Bea. The calm creature trotted toward the Morgan to join its side. Arthur's mouth remained ajar. "You missed all the action. This bastard tried shootin' me and shot the damn grass instead. Thinkin' he should stick to knives. Then, again, he ain't goin' to do much killing, anyhow."

"You…he…how did you…?"

"I'm a capable woman, don't make no mistake on that," she reminded, a victorious smirk grazed her lips as she folded her arms over her chest. _That she is_. "Let's get this dumb fella' over to the Strawberry jail, he keeps mumblin' to himself and it's creepin' me out."

Arthur's gaze lingered upon Sadie as she mounted her horse, mainly in awe at her showcasing of abilities. He swallowed his surprise and snapped out of the rumination he had dug himself in. He heaved the bounty over his shoulder and threw him on Bea's rump, and surprisingly enough, he didn't blabber like any other bounty Arthur had captured, but he did murmur under his breath. Arthur didn't bother to comment on it, as the pair trekked toward Strawberry. He couldn't help but grow a newfound kind of respect toward the headstrong widow he had recently come to know and had the pleasure to conversate with throughout most of the day. Albeit, he didn't expect _that_ of the woman, whatsoever.

By the time the bounty had been carelessly thrown in his cell and the reward had been received, the evening sun had already begun to fade out of view, and soon enough, the beam of illumination that the full moon provided would take its place. The crisp air was comfortingly silent, as only the choruses of the creatures of the night had substituted for the lack of rambunctious conversation. They rode a bit of the way back home, speaking little, though, due to nightfall and the rest of the extensive ride ahead of them, it was decided to be too exhausting to embark on until the sun had risen, once more.

 **Hi guys! I hope you liked the chapter. I apologize for not updating promptly, as the holidays kind of drifted me away from writing, and I had moved a couple of days ago. I'm getting back into things though so be prepared for more weekly updates again! Enjoy and thank you all for reviewing and reading! :D**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: The Ride, The Savior, And The Lone Widow**

Arthur and Sadie were grateful, for rushes of pleasant breezes struck their bare arms in fits, swaying and ruffling up each of their hatless manes. After a day of being engrossed in catching a bounty, the fresh scent of the serene environment and what it provided was pleasant, nonetheless. Together, they were seated on either side of a glowing campfire; the only radiance they had for miles. The cloud-less night sky above held a multitude of the tiniest, twinkling stars, scattered vastly amongst the airspace, like puny beacons. The duo was settled in an open clearing for the remainder of the night, located halfway from camp. Their bedrolls were at the ready and sprawled underneath their bums for the moment that they chose to drift into the slumber that awaited them.

Arthur figured he would've been able to get some sleep, especially after a draining day that it was, but his expectations were not met. Not only did his mind swarm with prompted sets of different distractions, but he had remained stunned from the events that had occurred only moments earlier. Bewilderment coursed through him, as he's never seen a woman hogtie a bounty as simple as Sadie did, but admiration seemed to mix into it as well.

In the center, the ruby-colored blaze gave the incentive to nearby insects and other creatures to scutter in the opposite direction. Arthur found himself poking at the flames with a stick, before shoving it along with the rest of the wood that it had consumed. Sizzling pops and comforting crackles was all that was mainly heard in the silent environment that surrounded them. The campfire that provided warmth and light was Arthur's primary transfixion, only desiring to be at ease and get some rest. In hopes to kickstart the drowsiness, he decided to shuffle in his satchel, and pluck out his journal. On the left side, he doodled a quick representation of his mare, Bea, and with drawn brows, his whole being was consumed on the opposite side of the page.

Relative to resting, it had seemed that his partner had the same problem. Instead of delving into a journal or a source of heat for a subject to drown herself into a state of reverie, her brown ovals caught onto the midnight sky, an undeniable beauty that was crafted with imagery that never failed to captivate her.

At Arthur's large hand maneuvering across the page of his journal at a rapid pace, Sadie's idle eye on the view above plummeted to survey Arthur's attentive countenance, his lower lip sucked in between his teeth. With a single hand, he held the booklet against his bent knee that had been positioned upright, whilst his other leg was folded underneath. Arthur didn't notice her speculating stare, as he was so invested with the letters that morphed into words.

For her own entertainment, and to tease Arthur, Sadie prompts, "Is that that diary you doodle in everyday?"

Arthur's gaze retracts from the journal to look up at Sadie, her brow arched in curiosity. He returned his attention to the page, the amount of focus he once had was now minimized as he emphasized in a corrective tone, "It's a _journal_ , and I don't suppose ever mentioning to you that I do."

"I've seen you, and you do it very often, so it is noticeable."

Once the words had escaped her lips, he paused his hand movements in the middle of writing a sentence, skimming through the detailed description of the day that he already written out beforehand. In the back of his head, her reply hung for a moment, before the edges of his mouth jerked to the side, thinking _, she's got a point_ , "Okay, well, to answer your question from before, yes, it is."

"What are you writin' about?" Sadie asks, intrigued.

Arthur sasses in incredulity, her inquisitiveness appalling, "None of your business, woman."

"Why not?"

"Because, it's only for _me_ to write in, and for _me_ to know."

"So, it _is_ a diary."

"Huh?" he hums, scrunching one side of his face up in perplexity. He gave her a flick of a glance, stating, "I already told you, it's a journal."

"But, you won't tell me what you're writing about, so technically…" She trailed off, before sucking her teeth, lowering the volume of her voice in discretion, "It's a diary, and like you said so yourself, it's only meant for _you_ to know."

"I know that," he mumbled, though he only grew more confused as to the reasoning of her blabbering. With the pencil budged in between his fingertips, he waved off Sadie as a dismissive gesture, desiring to be left alone of the pestering curiosity that she conjured up about his personal thoughts, "You're thinkin' too much into it. Call it whatever you want; it's a journal."

Sadie pressed, "Is calling it a diary too feminine for you?"

"No, 'course not," he scoffs, grumbling curses in mere breaths before continuing in agitation, "I just don't understand why it matters."

"It doesn't," she shrugged nonchalantly, a coy smirk pulled at the ends of her lips, noticing his irritability growing by the second.

"So, why are you questionin' me, lady?"

" _Sadie_ ," she couldn't help but correct, causing Arthur to roll his eyes in dramatics, "And, nothin', I'm just teasin' since you're bein' awfully straight-faced."

"Straight-faced _and_ sour-faced, huh?" he tutted, "As the same could be said for you."

Emitting a tiresome yawn, she concludes, "Apparently so."

Arthur gently placed the pencil in between the pages, as usual, and smacked the booklet shut, before returning it into his satchel in its proper placement. He shifted to look over at his travel companion, before mentioning, "I didn't say it earlier, but, good job today…with taking that murdering fool in."

Sadie glances up at him through long eyelashes as she undid her perfect braid, Arthur's eyes following her swift movements in speculation, mostly perplexed at how quick her hair had unwounded. As the wavy, umber locks unraveled to settle upon her shoulders and drape down her back, she tucked a couple of loose strands behind her ear, before giving Arthur a casual nod of appreciation, inquiring, "Was it not what you expected?"

Arthur blinked, dumb-founded, "What are you referring to?"

"That I'd have the ability to lasso a grown man on horseback."

"No, well, I didn't think you'd do it at all, actually—lasso a man or hogtie 'im for that matter," Arthur negated with the subtle shake of his head, straggling frontal locks drooped over the edge of his brow as he examined the amount of lodged grime under his boots, "I just thought you'd get yourself shot with how many dumb choices you make, is all."

Sadie guffawed at how simplistic his concluding sentence had been uttered, "Do you always go around tellin' people they're dumb in the most simplest of ways?"

A hint of humor clung to his tone, "I didn't say you was, I said you make dumb choices, and that, alone, will get you killed. I will remind you of that, because you tend to do things that are out of the norm."

"What, like steal your horse to get away from those dumb lawmen?" Sadie bemused.

Sadie and Arthur shared a wholehearted laugh at the thought of the events that had occurred that day, as crazy as it was.

A stationary smile dressed upon Arthur's calm features, commenting, "Yeah, and that's about one of the craziest damn things I've seen a woman do. You even got Miss. Grimshaw beat on that one."

"Oh, no, don't be absurd, that woman walks around that camp like she has a constant stick up her ass, and with that, she's got to be the craziest," Sadie giggled to herself, and Arthur couldn't help but let out a raspy chuckle. Although that was accurate, he negated her retort.

"She may, but she's what keeps the camp stable and kickin', that's for sure," Arthur stated, "But, you still got her beat, and there's no changin' my mind."

Sadie smiled in commemoration, training her focus on her hands that were placed on her lap as she twiddled her thumbs, "She's a strong woman, I can see that. As a matter of fact, all the women at camp are."

"Don't I know it," he answered, agreeing, "And, you as well, miss, but, you just can't do things for the hell of it-you'll get killed. I know you understand, but with us, being in this gang, our lives are different and there's danger every step of the way. I'm just makin' sure that you're reminded."

"I do things without thinkin', or, maybe, I do things that I think may be right, I don't know…but hey, I'm not dead yet," she points out. Arthur nodded, taking in every word that left her mouth, delving into each; one at a time, "So, I must be doin' somethin' right."

"That is true, but you ain't invisible, either-remember that," he knocked off his leather boots with his hands and placed them at the end of his bedroll, parallel to one another. He let out an exhausted yawn whilst rubbing at his eyes with his fingertips. Sadie witnessed him reposition himself by laying flatly upon the bedroll below him, his eyelids drooping in gradual swoops. He stared at the sky for a moment with a bleak expression, his gaze unmoving, before finalizing, "You should get some rest, Mrs. Adler, we got a hell of a ride tomorrow mornin'."

"Right," Sadie nodded, mimicking his previous movements, soon enough. As Arthur turned over and drifted off into a vacant darkness that sleep had to offer, it ended up being the opposite for Sadie.

She remained awake for a while longer, consumed in the nightly scent and the unavoidable view that was plastered above her. As she did so, a faint frown developed upon her once-stilled features. A repeating wish drove through her thoughts every so often, only hoping she had the one she desired most, once more, by her side, for he was all that she ever wanted, and nothing more.

* * *

Unlike the night prior, willowy puffs of clouds dressed themselves across the sky, defusing most of the sun's scorching rays. The pair of travelers had crossed narrow paths and dusty roads, their home inching closer by the mile. Without a doubt, the ride from Strawberry to Valentine was an exhausting one to begin with, not only for the horses, of course, but for Arthur and Sadie. The two couldn't help but feel a mutual sense of unwinding, as it was a sensation that they had felt recently and became familiar with whenever they had ridden together. As always, the usual silence that drug onward didn't hold a feeling of tension or awkwardness, nor did either of them feel as if something needed to be said at every given moment.

Although, it had become clear that the pair had thought it was necessary to mention how beautiful their surroundings were, as the casual conversations that Arthur and Sadie had mainly consisted of what the world had to offer. It was a topic that they both had in common—the love for giving recognition to the environment around them. The enjoyment of hearing the other's response was mutual. The entirety of the ride wasn't always quiet or compiled of chatter about the nature among them. Sadie would nag Arthur a few times, only for her entertainment and to poke a bit of fun. By doing so, she noticed he was very short-tempered, but he had a humorous side to him. Arthur would reply with snappy remarks, but he knew she was only doing it on purpose; for laughs. At the realization of her motives, a roll of the eyes was all that she'd receive from him, or a contemptuous wave, at most.

Maybe, even the smallest of a smile went unnoticed.

Upon arrival, Arthur and Sadie hitched their horses at the posts and dismounted. Sadie began to brush down her Morgan's mane in content, as Arthur whirled around Bea, flicked a slight glance toward his bounty partner, and strode towards the center of campgrounds to place the gang's share in the box. But, before he could take more than five steps forward, a drawled call of his name halted his movements, and caused him to look wistfully over his shoulder in expectation.

Sadie rasped, kindness found in her words, "I appreciate you for havin' faith that I could help out."

"At first, I was iffy," he faced her fully, and gave her a momentary half-smile, inclining his head forward, "But, it sure let me know you have the capability to help more often around here, and as you know, all the help we can get is very much appreciated."

"Well, I can see that most of you are genuine people out here trying to survive, like you said before, so with that said, I'm glad to do any work of any kind, if it'll help the gang," she responded in glee, and in Arthur's eyes, there was a glint of appreciation, and even joy to her sudden inclination to help. A small frown began to graze Sadie's lips, specifically at her response. She uttered in a dulled change of tone, "Except for bein' a working girl. That ain't me and never will be me."

"No worries, miss," Arthur wafted a hand through the air, implying that would never be an option, "It was a pleasure catchin' a bounty with you, Mrs. Adler. If you like that line of work, we can do it again, sometime."

Sadie patted her Morgan on the neck, a wholehearted gleam of mutual respect instilled within her eyes as she did so. The Morgan knickered in response, before Sadie placed the prickly brush into her saddle bag, "Sure thing, Mr. Morgan. Maybe, then, you can inform me about that secret _journal_ of yours."

"Ha," Arthur mocked a laugh, sucked at his teeth and heaved a sharp breath at the thought of such a thing, a gradual shake of his head following a mere second of silence, "Not a chance, miss."

Sadie half-shrugged and brushed passed Arthur's presence, and in a jaunt manner, she walked toward her tent. Without peering over her shoulder, she waved a single hand as a possible farewell, or even a concluding gesture to their conversation. With that, she replied, "Whatever you say."

Arthur's glued-on gaze lingered on her departing figure, until she was no longer seen. _Well, she seems much…better_ , he pondered, as if he had lost track of what he was meant to currently do, or more so, the share he was supposed to place in the collection's box. He kicked at the dirt below his boots, causing pebbles to tumble about, whilst becoming jumbled in his own mind, once more. A deep wonderment about the widow had crawled into his subconscious and became the main subject of his thoughts, uncontrollably. _I guess, time away, and eventually, feeling comfort from company is what she needed, is all. Maybe, it's what anyone needs when hit with grief._

"Arthur," Dutch called, whistling him out of the trance he was in. He blinked a few times before making eye contact with his concerned, longtime best friend. It had taken a bit for Arthur to crawl out of the mental state he was in, stuck in topics that would eventually flood inward, but it seemed Dutch cured him of that. Furrowing his brows, Dutch reached out and placed a worried hand on Arthur's shoulder, noticing how spaced-out he had just been, "You doin' alright, son?"

"Yeah, I was just…thinkin'."

"I see. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Nah," Arthur shook his head, the subject that hung in his mind was nothing more than analyzing the woman he had previously gone on a job with. Nothing more than a random, and very much unnatural spacious moment that was excessively lengthy, "No, it ain't nothin' at all. I was just wonderin' and lost track of what the hell I was doin'. Are you alright, Dutch?"

"Of course, I was just going to ask you for a favor," Dutch nodded reluctantly and let the subject rest, causing Arthur's shoulders to relax, and ultimately, he was thankful. Dutch removed his hand from his friend's shoulder and propped them both on either side of his own hips, giving a quick glance over towards the direction he had seen Sadie walk in, "But, before I ask for that favor, I'm curious. I noticed Mrs. Adler had left the premise with you yesterday-how is she holding up?"

"She's…well," Arthur didn't know how to describe the way that the woman had been acting, but in his eyes, it seemed as if she had started to return to being in a neutral state, and maybe, the process of her constant grieving is coming to an end, "I think, she's slowly trying to keep herself busy, and you know, beginning to help out around here more often. She's only mentioned to me good things-as to what she thinks of all us folk-so it's all seemingly positive, Dutch. She's just been trying to get back into things, I guess."

"As she should," Dutch hummed in understanding, a nod followed, "In the past couple of weeks or so, she's been socializing more, according to Miss Jones and Miss Jackson. Has she been speaking to you as well?"

"Yeah, more than I thought she would, at least. It's as if she's a whole different person, if I'm bein' honest," Arthur informed. He couldn't agree more with his words. He folded his arms across his chest as the petite figure of young Jack entered his sights, whom had been seated cross-legged on the ground. He had his attention on a story book, presumably one that Hosea had given him. The edge of Arthur's mouth tilted upward, a glimpse of his own childhood flashed through his mind in the quickest of flickers, the temporary distraction soon faded, "She's kind of surprising in a way."

Dutch wheezed a laugh, "What are you talking about, son?"

"Well, I mean, she and I went bounty huntin' over by Strawberry, and she lassoed and hogtied the son of a bitch as if she could do it in her sleep," Arthur explained, baffled, though, he couldn't help but be impressed by her previous actions, as any other man would, "She's a capable woman."

"Didn't she own a ranch with her late husband?"

"That's what she said."

"It explains a lot. She must've done that type of work, along with stable keeping," Dutch stated. He and Arthur began to walk alongside one another, making their way toward the gang's collection box to drop off the sliver of cash that Arthur received for the bounty. "She is familiar with guns, I presume?"

"I haven't seen her use the guns that Lenny and I gave her, but I would not be surprised if she knows how to use one correctly, or even hesitate to do so—that woman has a spine made of steel," Arthur compliments, a hint of admiration stuck to his tone. To his surprise, he didn't realize he had so much to say about Sadie; a woman he had recently come to know, and is continuing to understand, but he knew that the words he did speak of her were the truth, and only the truth; nothing less.

Pausing before Dutch's tent, they stood alongside each other, surveying the campgrounds that had been blanketed before them. All the folk had been up to different sorts of chores and hobbies, trying to keep themselves busy.

Interested at a certain idea, Dutch grinned, "Do you think she'd participate in any robberies?"

"Most definitely," Arthur gave Dutch a sideways glance, "According to her, she'd do anything to help the gang."

"Oh, I'm sure," Dutch let out a rough laugh, and at that, Arthur joined in. Dutch patted Arthur on the shoulder, and began to take a step towards Hosea's direction, most likely to speak about certain business, "I'm glad to hear, Arthur. By the way, I got word that Trelawny's in town, and he has knowledge of Sean's whereabouts, so I sent Charles, Javier, and Lenny to fetch Mr. MacGuire. Apparently, he had been taken by some good-for-nothing bounty hunters."

Arthur heaved a short breath of mere alleviation at the news of his Irish friend, ultimately glad that he wasn't dead, at least, "Kid's lucky he ain't hangin' by a noose. I guess, Trelawny always sniffing around is good for something."

"Ain't that so," Dutch agreed, "While those three are out and about, I had sent John and Bill to take that O'Driscoll fool to Colm's supposed hideout, over by Six Point Cabin. It's in Cumberland Forest, north of Valentine, west of Fort Wallace-buried in some tall trees. That favor I was telling you about-do you mind following a trail over to see if they're doing alright? They left only a bit ago, I'm sure you can catch up."

"Yeah, 'course, Dutch, I heard of it. This couldn't wait till I returned?"

Dutch slowed his pace and halted, his eyebrows drawn at Arthur's words, "It's necessary and urgent business, Arthur. Colm knows things that we don't-things have to do with money, and that money will lead us out of here and to a distant land where we're finally free. Don't you want that, Arthur?"

Arthur strolled over to Dutch whilst responding, "I understand–I do, but John and Bill ain't likely the pair of—" The volume of Arthur's voice lowered to a distinct whisper, "They're kind of dumb as rocks when it comes to things of the sort; they're likely to mess up and that unpredictable moron of an O'Driscoll may get away."

"And, that's why I'm telling you to go on ahead to the location and make sure things are going to plan," Dutch reasoned, proceeding to exit the conversation, "Have faith in them, and know that we got this under control. Thank you, Arthur."

Arthur's worrisome eyes followed Dutch's figure as he faded away from view, slowly but surely. He inhaled a deep breath, before exhaling all the stress and thoughts that had came with it. All that Arthur wanted was to relax and have a calm day, but it didn't seem that his wishes would be fulfilled. He knew to anticipate the opposite of his expectations. In truth, he had faith in John and Bill, most of the time. Maybe Bill more than John, not because he was less of an idiot than him, but because John tended to be unpredictable, especially in Arthur's perspective of things and of the past. What troubled Arthur the most was that two of the gang's men were heaving an O'Driscoll to a territory that he is familiar with, unknowing that it could be a trap. While he had suspected of that, he hoped that Bill and John have as well. If things were to get rough, he conjured up all the remaining _faith_ he had in the two gang members, anticipating they had everything under control until he, himself, had arrived to aid them.

* * *

Deep in the shrubbery and thickets of Six Point Cabin, an array of gunshots blared, mares and fillies nickered in a wild craze, and piles of deceased bodies masked the soil that covered the surrounding forest. A multitude of gang members enacted in a feud of total bloodshed.

John, Bill, and Kieran hung back behind a wooden wagon that had been falling apart by the minute. As bullets whizzed by and drove itself through the breakable surface, Arthur had soon arrived and began shooting his Cattleman at a couple of foes with insane accuracy. In an instant, they had fallen lifelessly, one-by-one, to the ground, nonetheless. With a fantastic start, Arthur charged forward and had finally joined alongside two friendly fools and a frightened O'Driscoll that he had become all too familiar with.

Arthur's eyes darted about, his Cattleman held up defensively at the ready. He attempted to figure out a quick, structured plan as to how they were going to get out of this situation without any bullets tearing through their skins.

At the mere sight of a pistol embedded under Kieran's tight, shaky grip, Arthur swung his aim toward the untrusting individual immediately. John was quick to shield the once-supposed prisoner, causing Arthur's stationary scowl to twist into one of infuriation, mixed with obvious perplexity.

"Arthur, Bill and I gave him the gun," John reasoned, his overly scratchy voice seeming as if he had drunk cigarettes and ate glass all his life, albeit, many would agree that it was pleasant to hear. John ducked his head in a rapid swoop as a bullet dashed and struck the wagon inches from his temple, shards of splinters spraying about, "Two of us against twenty of these bastards wasn't goin' to cut it, and so far, he's been trusting."

"Yeah, he's trusting until he shoots you in the back when there ain't no more left, you goddamn idiot," Arthur grumbles under his breath, more so in angered seethes. Although he would've liked to pull the trigger on Kieran, or maybe even his longtime, boneheaded friend, he decided against it, shaking off the subject that should not be dealt with until later on.

In a slight and stealthy manner, Arthur began to peek around the edge of the wagon, spotting a few crimson barrels around the camp that he was very much familiar with. At this, a small smirk began to paint itself upon Arthur's lips, a fond idea clicked almost instantaneously in his mind. To silence a few of the opposing gang's men that didn't pause during gunfire, Arthur stepped out of cover, pinched an eye shut, and pulled the trigger.

A loud explosion had followed without a second to waste, as an abundance of scraps, flames, and bodies that surrounded the barrel had been thrown from the immense blast. As soon as that had occurred, it insinuated remaining O'Driscoll's to take cover, providing Arthur, John, Bill, and Kieran leeway to proceed forward toward a better defensive structure.

Bill and John began to fire their revolvers and repeaters at O'Driscoll's that attempted to regain their momentum, vision, and focus from the harsh blow. At this point, more than half of their men were put to their foreseeable end, thanks to their lack of intelligence and Arthur's quick decision-making skills.

"Morgan, should we hold our position here or go at them?" Bill shouted over a few gunshots that he had fired blindly, though they managed to be precise.

"I say we advance, but carefully," Arthur retorted, no hesitance in his decision. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that the O'Driscoll's cowardice tendencies would show, and soon, they'd scurry off into the distant forest that surrounded them. It was a known tactic of theirs-a bad one, at that.

At Arthur's suggested orders, Bill, John, and Kieran responded in agreement, every decision and step that they made tentative, though with execution, as well as intention. One-by-one, the group of O'Driscoll's minimized in numbers at an escalated rate. The more Arthur and his men drew forward and took over the territory-slowly but surely-there had been more bodies that covered the ground. It didn't take much longer for the sight of the remaining enemies to drop the weapons they acquired, and sprint in the opposite direction, as expected by Arthur and the others. The men of the Van der Linde gang were not one to disappoint.

 _Pathetic_ , Arthur bemused.

Colm O'Driscoll would like to believe that number overrules mostly anything, but judging by the conclusion of the shootout, it's safe to say there's much more to it than that.

Once the intense gunfight had died off, Arthur and the others continued to invade the rest of the camp mainly in search for loot and most importantly; Colm. According to Kieran, Colm had most likely been hiding out in the cabin, where he was always settled.

Arthur's entrance was a bit careless, because once he outstretched his hand to grab the handle, unsuspecting of anything, he met the end of a double-barreled shotgun, caught completely off-guard. With a harsh shove, the angered O'Driscoll, carrying much more weight on his stomach than recommended, forced Arthur to fall back onto the wooden floorboard with a loud _thud_.

At this moment, Arthur's immediate thought was that his days as a wanted outlaw had come to an end, as neither John or Bill had been nearby to shoot the aging bastard that towered over him. For all he knew, they were off looting bodies.

Arthur didn't try to fight this battle, not because he was too weak to do so, but because it had seemed that this was his time, and maybe, he just didn't mind. He bid mental goodbyes to the one's that were close to his heart-those he had grown to know, and even the one that he wish he knew more about.

Bracing himself, Arthur pierced both of his eyes shut as he awaited the life-ending blast that was soon to come, consistent echoes of the O'Driscoll's nasty chuckles was all that his hearing could focus in on. As expected, the time had come, or more so, the immediate fire of a weapon. A violent shot had rung out, but had it been the one that Arthur was anticipating?

* * *

The lone widow wasn't much of a conversationalist, even in times like these, when the heartache didn't take over her or her senses. The thoughts that always seemed to course through her brain were quiet, though, ever since that day, they've never left. In the crooks of her mind, they were there; the memories, the feelings, the sadness, the loneliness, and the still image or motion-capture of her late husband himself. Although they had been present, they were hidden, trapped in some sort of box in her head, where she could control and contain her emotions as best as she could. Vivid flashbacks were engraved in her daily mentality, and sometimes, on occasional nights, she'd wake up from a dream, as they had mostly consisted of him; her love.

Although it was difficult at first, as time sped on, it became simpler to take her mind off the topic that she never thought she'd able to let go. All it took was patience, a source of positivity, and the glimmer of hope that she could continue onward because she knew that was what he wanted for her, no matter what. With that in mind, tranquility eventually had seeped in, and ever since then, the sliver of peace brought a bit of happiness. Little by little, the days grew simpler and carried more life or more meaning, within them.

Stuck at camp, Sadie had learned a lot from the folk that she had begun to know. They coherently worked together by doing a multitude of different things, that by the end of the day, it left the group warm, fed, intact, and above all the necessities, they carried on a stable atmosphere. Sadie had never thought that a group of outlaws and wanted men would be so humane, as _Mr. Morgan_ had worded it. Ravenous would be the adjective to describe most of the gangs that had developed a name for themselves, like the O'Driscoll's, but for some reason, the Van der Linde gang differentiated from many.

There was always the idea of running away that glued onto Sadie, only for the first week or so, due to the amount of unlawful actions that the Van der Linde gang have said to have done. That intention began to fade. She listened to the many stories that each member had as they would talk to one another by the campfire, and she couldn't help but notice all the trials and tribulations they had dealt with in their lives. The lives they've lived—they all lost someone they cared about, and she felt as if there was mutual understanding between her and them.

Sadie would note how helpful Tilly, Karen, Mary-Beth, and Abigail were towards her, even if she wasn't in the right mindset to respond or kindly recognize them for it. Miss Grimshaw and Hosea were strong roots of the group, which Sadie had observed right off the bat. All the men had a decent head on their shoulders, albeit, Micah was an odd fit for the group, due to his disrespectful actions and nasty, sly comments. Sadie knew they all had one thing in common, and maybe, that's why they've come a long way in the first place. _They stay strong to their beliefs_ , Sadie thinks often, _their loyalty shows_.

Mrs. Adler could say the same for Arthur Morgan; the large, brute man with an exterior of a snarling grizzly bear would be her first impression. At least that's what he wants everyone to think he is; terrifying; intimidating. Interiorly, Sadie knew he was only a sad, damaged man; she could see right through the permanent scowl on his face, along with the tenacious demeanor he never fails to break.

In time, Sadie had grown to be comfortable around those at camp, participating in conversations with the women mostly, or starting unavoidable arguments with Pearson. Often, she helps with the stew, and as usual, she's bossed around doing so. But, of course, she was going to retaliate with her words than just taking it.

All the others had seen her as a strong woman that had overcame tragedy at a sensible pace. She had been a great addition for the group-her attitude and her strength are her best attributes, besides her work ethic and her knowledge around weaponry. She's stubborn, but she's a capable woman with an intellectual and intricate mind that others had begun to look up to, and nonetheless, admire, especially since she brought in Gregory Reed _herself,_ as Arthur had emphasized. Sadie began to carry herself differently—with confidence, with integrity, and with a strong-willed attitude that radiated from her; it was evident.

The taste of getting out there and helping the group that had welcomed her with open arms was all that she needed to feel more alive, as if there was much more to do in her life than laying around and sulking, dreaming of a past that can't be reversed. The gruesome days she would remain down, helpless, or feeling like there was no hope for any joy to return to her had finally come to an end; she was determined.

 _The memories, the feelings, and the idea of him will always carry on with me,_ Sadie's subconscious had prompted, a light smile danced upon herfeatures _, the rest of the life I live—it will be for him._

Pearson cleared his throat to grab Sadie's attention. In an urgent manner, he snapped a finger in front of her face, hoping the action would drag her out of the reverie she had intertwined herself in. "Would you stop ruminating and get chopping?"

"Snap your finger in front of my face one more time and yeah, I'll get _chopping_ ," Sadie rasped in a venomous drawl, intimidation carried on with it. She knew he was irritating, for all the other times she had aided in cooking the stew, but sometimes, she couldn't handle his bothersome remarks.

Although Pearson wouldn't admit it, he was always deathly afraid of Sadie, but he managed to stand his ground during the times that they would get tangled in a useless argument. Which was always. The antagonized cook shot the furious widow a bitter glare, a short stare-down had begun, "Listen, lady, this stew isn't going to cook itself, so enough of the snappy threats, and start chopping those vegetables up nicely."

Sadie tried, with all her might, not to force her fist into Pearson's face, as she was shocked at the audacity of his words. To relax her pricked nerves, she breathed in sharply, "Maybe, if you would shut up and let me do so-how about it, mister?"

"I wouldn't have to tell you anything if you weren't so lost in your head all the time."

"Learn how to talk with some respect, and maybe I'll take you more seriously," Sadie narrowed her eyes at Pearson with disdain, curling her upper lip in a dark snarl. Fed up, the enraged chef slammed his cleaver upon the wooden cooking-board and turned to face the woman fully, folding his arms over his chest. His apron was dowsed with grease and grime. The distinct, distasteful stench that he emitted was appalling, "Then, again, I don't think being respectful is your strong-suit."

"Me? Disrespectful? Are you hearing yourself? You are _far_ from-"

A loud, anger-infused clearing of the throat interjected and halted Pearson's comeback.

Appearing in view was Miss. Grimshaw, wiping the palms of her hands upon her dress-skirt. She stared vigorously at the chef, who drew a huff of an exhale, before she proceeded to address him, "Pearson, would you please excuse Mrs. Adler? I'd like to have a word with her."

Scornfully, Pearson wafted his hand through the air, and shared one, last, hateful look with Sadie. He spun around and continued his daily job of cooking the stew that everyone cherished. In Sadie's mind, her immediate thought was that she was going to get yelled at for starting yet another fight with Pearson, besides the fact that Miss. Grimshaw had the tendency to shout either way.

With a tentative approach, she ambled over to the woman that had summoned her. She brushed a few loose strands of hair out of her face, positioned her lips into a thin line, and responded in a soft-spoken voice, hoping not a hint of an attitude was found in between the seams, "Yes?"

Expecting a strict tone and heightened volume of speech, Sadie was prepared for the outburst. Though, she had only received the opposite, "I'll help Pearson with the stew, but only this once, as it is _your_ job. Go on and continue your own chores, if you'd like."

With a slow, gradual nod, Sadie was stunned at Susan's subtleness with her suggestive remark, "I'm, um, sorry about–"

"No need to apologize, miss. Work is needed to be done and Pearson doesn't like to be behind on schedule, is all."

"Of course," was all that Sadie could say, as Miss. Grimshaw had begun to depart before she could utter anything else.

Sadie didn't have much of a schedule. The majority of what she was assigned was the list of chores that needed to get done, and that's exactly what she made sure she did ahead of time. Helping Pearson had been the only thing left to do, and at this point, she'd been thinking of calling it a day, as the day had begun to grow old.

Sadie anticipated the moment when she wasn't stuck at camp like every other woman in the gang. She wanted to ride with the men; do the serious jobs, like when she tagged along with Arthur to fetch a bounty.

 _It was exhilarating_ , an idle thought flashed through her mind occasionally. The job brought along a familiar itch that she had to act on. It involved targeting those that brought hurt to her; the O'Driscoll's.

 _Speaking of goddamn O'Driscoll's,_ Sadie's inner voice was livid. Through the foliage that embraced the camp, emerging amongst the outskirts, she spotted a few familiar faces, and one of them invigorated her in the most negative of ways.

Arthur, Bill, John, and Kieran had drawn in on horseback, rounding over to the hitching posts in a slow trot. Sadie's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and anger, the insignificant sight of Kieran returning to camp struck a violent nerve. According to Dutch, his plans with Kieran were not very kind, so seeing as he is waltzing into camp with not a single scratch on his body caused her to curve a brow.

Her growing frustration overtook her senses as her hand clenched into a tight fist, and her jaw had set. She rerouted the direction of her footing towards Arthur himself, whom had dismounted his mare, and sparked a match against the heel of his boot.

Arthur lit one of his cigarettes and side-eyed the enraged, approaching widow, her pace increasing to a fast walk. He began to brace himself to answer a handful of questions.

Unbothered, he lifted the butt of the cigarette to his lips and took a long, much-needed puff, before exhaling its smoke. As he awaited the eventual presence of the woman, the fumes loomed and danced around his face. He watched the swirling cloud soon disperse and disappear into the air.

Sadie halted in front of Arthur with a frustrated stomp. As he leaned against one of the posts, she heaved a breath in attempt to calm her nerves, but her outburst was excruciatingly violent, nonetheless, "What is that son of a bitch doing back here?"

"Mrs. Adler," Arthur acknowledged first-and-foremost. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip as he searched for an explanation that would make sense in her bothered mind. "The O'Driscoll saved my life."

"And, why does that matter?" Sadie retorts. "He is apart of the gang that killed my _husband_. Have you forgotten about that?"

"How can I, miss?" Arthur grumbled, inspecting the cigarette that was budged in between his fingers. He brought it up to his lips and inhaled sharply once more, flicking it towards the mucky ground. He felt his temper heighten, but he made sure to keep it under control. He heaved a sharp breath, and replied in a mellow tone, "Listen, I don't like him much more than you do. John and Bill convinced me to let him come back to camp since he not only saved my life, but I-he-just look at him."

Sadie grudgingly turned her head to survey the O'Driscoll, only to find him tending to the gang's horses at the hitching posts. A small smile grazed his lips, but Sadie despised the gesture.

Her upper lip curled, displeased.

"I believe he's a piece of shit, pulling on some act so y'all would feel sorry for him," mumbled Sadie, "It was his choice to join those terrible men. Everyone knows about them."

"Maybe, but maybe it wasn't his choice after all," Arthur glanced over at Kieran for a short moment. He retracted his gaze to stare at Sadie, who seemed to have grown more at ease as she spoke. Intrigued in the meaning of his words, she let him explain without any interruption, "Maybe, John and Bill are right about 'im, as dumb as they can be, sometimes. In my opinion, I'm thinkin' he was just some kid on the run from whatever he's been runnin' from all along. Then, he just got caught up with them."

"You don't know for sure," Sadie's impression of the O'Driscoll was stiff, and wasn't going to shift into much else for a while.

"Actions tell a lot about someone, you know."

"Yeah, well, people will do anything to save their own ass when it's at jeopardy."

"Maybe, but he could've let me get shot. It was a split-second decision. I believe he ain't all that bad, but it doesn't mean he's off the hook."

Sadie **remained** silent and crossed her arms over her chest. She trained a firm eye on Kieran in speculation, digesting Arthur's judgment.

Arthur laughed at her critical stare.

"He shakes more than a leaf in the fall, Mrs. Adler. The most harm he could do is punch you in the arm."

Unconsciously, Sadie snickered at the amusing comparison.

As she did so, Arthur grinned. He was grateful that the widow may not kill the O'Driscoll in his sleep, after all. He mentally exhaled in relaxation at the sheer thought. _Who knows, Kieran may have inside information that could be useful_ , his subconscious resonated, _that's to hopin' her anger stays suppressed, as unpredictable as she can be_.

Knocking Arthur out of his train of thoughts, Sadie pointed towards the outskirts of camp and prompted aloud, "who the hell is that ginger riding on the back of Charles' horse?"

* * *

 **Hey guys, it is me, back from a four month break since I haven't updated. I am absolutely sorry for that, but as usual, school and life got in the way. It's better to receive an update than to never get one though, so I'm happy to inform you all that Chapter 5 has finally came. To all of you that have waited and worried that I wouldn't update—don't worry, I'm not leaving this story hanging; ever. It will end and be finalized. I'm determined. I will be starting Chapter 6 very soon and will update as soon as possible. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I was trying to reach 8k words for you all, but I'm 500 short :[**

 **Next chapter will be filled of celebrations and dialogue between the pair that we love. I also want to add some John, Abigail, and Arthur drama at some point. It will entail what you may expect.**

 _ **Above all, thanks to everyone that has been following this story and reviewed! Reviews motivate me so much, so if you'd like, go ahead and let me know what you think!**_


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